The Ties That Bind
by TheaJ1
Summary: Set almost directly after "Lifeline", dealing with the aftermath of the kiss at Mac's engagement party. Things are complicated when Harm and Mac are sent to investigate the murder of a female Navy lieutenant at Norfolk Naval Station and the soon the case becomes more personal than either of them could have possibly imagined.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This fanfic is set almost directly after "Lifeline", dealing with the aftermath of the kiss at Mac's engagement party. Things are complicated when Harm and Mac are sent to investigate the murder of a female Navy lieutenant at Norfolk Naval Station and the case soon becomes more personal than either of them could have possibly imagined.**

**This story might be crossing over into NCIS a little, but not so much, I think, that it warrants being classified as such.**

**There are probably tons of inaccuracies in this story, but everything I know about the US military I know from TV and there's only so much research you can do. I hope it won't spoil it for you! If it's anything too drastic, please point it out to me and I'll change it.**

**A thank you to AvaniHeath for her input and beta skills! Check out her latest fic "Anchored" if you haven't done so already!**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario; I'm only borrowing.**

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**The Ties That Bind**

**Prologue**

A twig cracked underneath her foot, shattering the peaceful silence, and Florence Acker froze. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her blood rushing in her ears. She forced herself to take a deep breath and listen for signs of pursuit, trying to ignore the persistent voice in the back of her mind that told her that she would never hear him coming unless he wanted her to. It was the same voice that had tried to persuade her to stop running because it was useless. She couldn't outrun him, she couldn't outfight him and neither could she hide forever. These were the facts, cold and hard. The analyst in her kept going over them, looking at them from every angle, searching for something that would get her safely out of this mess. But she could twist and turn them in her mind all she wanted—the data available to her allowed only for one interpretation.

_I'm screwed_.

At least she hadn't lost her sense of humour yet. Florence told herself that this was a good thing, that it meant she wasn't ready to surrender just yet. A flutter of hope remained. Looking at the facts, she knew it was irrational. But hope always was, and so she kept on going. When she couldn't walk anymore, she'd crawl. She would not go down without a fight. She would not allow him to break her like he had broken all the others. She was stronger than that.

Slowly, she turned around, afraid of what she might see but knowing that she had to make sure she wasn't being followed. It reminded her of when she was young—she would wake from a nightmare, afraid to open her eyes because she was convinced the monster she had just escaped was towering over her bed, ready to devour her. But there was nothing. Aside from the narrow trail she had made, the forest lay undisturbed. Thin rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy, painting golden circles on the bright green leaves. The sky overhead, or what she could see of it, was a brilliant blue, dotted with tiny white clouds.

_Would look nice on a postcard_, Florence thought, then almost laughed out loud of the absurdity of it all. She was running for her life, yet here she was, admiring the scenery while her pursuer gained on her with every second she stood here wasting.

As she set off again, she was more mindful of where she put her feet. Although she harboured no illusions that she would lose him, she carefully brushed ferns and twigs out of her way. Let him know she wasn't running mindlessly, scared out of her wits. Let him know that she wasn't going to surrender. True, things didn't look so good. With every breath she took, her lungs burned and prickled like she was inhaling flames. Her legs were heavy as lead and screaming in pain. She had no food, no water, no cell phone. Her skills in hand-to-hand combat were useless against him and if—she forced herself to think 'if', not 'when'—he caught up with here, he'd kill her easily; it wouldn't be an even match.

But she'd already been through hell, her body bruised and battered, and she'd survived. Sooner or later, she was confident, she'd find water and food. She might be an analyst and spend the better part of each day sitting on her rear end in front of a computer, but she knew how to survive in the wilderness. Her dad, a Marine general, would have been proud to know that at least some of the survival training he'd instilled in his youngest daughter had stuck with her. _Not that you'll have much use for it in the Navy_, he'd said in affectionate resignation the day she told him that she wouldn't follow in his footsteps like her four brothers had and join the Marine Corps.

She knew how to survive. She wore sturdy clothes that could withstand the elements for a while—a sweater, blue jeans and trainers; she'd just returned from taking a walk when he abducted her. It was summer, so she wouldn't freeze to death. She'd be okay. Not fine—she wouldn't be fine for a very long time after this—but okay. All she had to do was hang in there until someone found her or she found someone with a cell phone. She'd crossed a hiking trail a few minutes ago; sooner or later she'd encounter a hiker. Her main problem was avoiding getting caught.

A thought occurred to her and she paused mid-step. It was the middle of the day, just before noon, judging by the position of the sun. She'd been on the move since before dawn, running at first, then walking when she couldn't run anymore and because she had to preserve what little energy she had left. What if he hadn't noticed her escape yet? He'd left when it was still dark. She assumed it was because he had to be back on base by morning—if he was missing, someone might start asking questions or even put two and two together and figure out that he'd abducted her. She wasn't quite sure how long she'd been gone—two days, maybe three—but surely by now people were looking for her. He'd have to go about his business as usual to avoid suspicion, which meant that he couldn't leave in the middle of the day. And that meant that she'd have at least six hours to find help. Or at the very least put as much distance between her and the cabin where he'd kept her as she possibly could.

But first she needed to rest. Just for a moment. She knew it was risky. But if she tripped because she was too exhausted to walk properly and broke something, that would kill her just as dead as he would. She slid into a bush of fern on her right and sank down at the base of a tree, her back against the rough, hard trunk. With the hood of her dark sweater pulled over her long blond curls, she was reasonably hidden. Even though he was probably back at the base, she didn't want to take any chances.

She blinked drowsily into the sunlight, hugging her knees to her chest. Bird sang overhead, chirping merrily. She envied them. If she had wings, she would have been able to fly away and go home.

"I'm going home," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. She'd screamed so much in the past few days that it was nearly gone. "I am going home." Her hands tightened on her legs. "I am going home."

She had to believe that she was going home.

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**A/N: Please let me know what you think! I love reading your reviews! Second chapter will be up later today!**


	2. 1 Come back… Be here

**A/N: The titles of the chapters are the names of the songs I was listening to while I was writing. The inspiration for this chapter—and many of the following chapters—was "Come back… Be here" by Taylor Swift.**

**Again, thank you, AvaniHeath, for your thoughts.**

**Enjoy!**

**Thank you, rlrct, for reviewing!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario; I'm only borrowing.**

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**1 Come back… Be here**

Harm cursed under his breath as the water changed from scalding hot to ice cold for the fifth time in two minutes. He turned it off, deciding that it would have to do, and stepped out of the shower, reaching for his towel.

"Want to tell me what's bothering you?" Renée asked, already fully dressed, her eyebrows raised inquisitively as she sat perched on the edge of his bed.

"Nothing's bothering me," he replied curtly. "Why do you keep asking that?" But the truth was that something _was_ bothering him—had bothered him all weekend—only he couldn't tell her what it was. That would lead to one of those discussions about his relationship with Mac and he was growing tired of having to convince Renée over and over again that there was nothing going between them. Though maybe he would have felt differently if that had actually been the case. Every time the subject came up, he felt like he was lying through his teeth—to Renée as well as to himself.

"Maybe because you've barely spoken a word to me all weekend and I feel under-appreciated?" she replied, smiling to take the sting out of the words.

His first impulse was to snap at her and that said more about his current mood that he cared to contemplate. Drawing a deep breath, he counted to ten in his head while he put on his underwear and slid into his slacks. "I have a lot on my mind right now," he answered finally, hoping she'd leave it at that. But it hadn't escaped his notice that she'd been watching him very closely since Friday night; even with his thoughts a hundred miles away—or over in Georgetown, to be more precise—he wasn't blind, and he couldn't shake the sense of guilt that had settled over him.

_What the hell was I thinking?_

Over the past few days he'd asked himself that question so many times that he'd lost count, but he had yet to come up with an answer that didn't lead to a whole bunch of new, and for the most part unpleasant, questions. Then again, maybe he was simply asking the wrong question. _She_ had kissed _him_, not the other way around.

_But you kissed her back._

_Yeah, I did that, didn't I?_

"Obviously," Renée said, pursing her lips as she looked him over. He knew that look and he dreaded it. It was the 'This is about Mac again, isn't it?' look.

As he buttoned up his shirt, he tried not to squirm under her scrutinising gaze. Admitting to her that he was thinking of Mac—again—would probably end this relationship for good. However, to be perfectly honest, he was beginning to think that maybe it was better that way. It was hardly fair on Renée to string her along when he wasn't willing to give her what she wanted. But it would also mean admitting to himself things he didn't want to face and acknowledging feelings he'd rather go on pretending he didn't have, because it made things easier for him this way, and less painful.

_You pushed me away_.

Yeah, he'd done that too. So he was hardly in a position to complain.

"Look," he said, looping his tie around his neck, "I'm sorry. I know I've been distracted, but I'll make it up to you tonight. Okay?" He knew he owed her at least that; she'd been putting up with a lot, though most of it, like the last-minute trip to Iceland, hadn't really been his fault.

She gave him a smile, appeased, though he thought he saw a flicker of resignation in her eyes. But maybe it was just his own guilty conscience. "I look forward to it."

Once she had left for work and he had finished dressing, Harm poured himself a mug of coffee. He was in no hurry to get to work because today was bound to be awkward. More awkward than usual. After spending the better part of the weekend trying to figure out how to act around Mac, he'd reached the conclusion that it would be best if they simply went back to normal. Or what passed as normal for them anyway.

Besides, it wasn't as if there was another option.

_Isn't there?_

No. No, there wasn't. Mac had made her choice and she deserved to be happy. Harm might not have cared much for Brumby—though he tried not to think too closely about why that was because that would have led him straight back to all those things he didn't want to face—but he couldn't deny that he loved her. And she loved him.

Didn't she?

_If she does, then why did she kiss _you_?_

That was what it came back to, wasn't it? Because while he didn't deny that he'd kissed her back, all the while knowing that he shouldn't, that it wasn't right, she'd initiated it. _You have someone who'll always love you_. He shouldn't have said it. But they'd been so open with each other, almost painfully honest, and he'd felt that if he didn't tell her how he felt about her then, he'd never be able to move on. And he had to. She already had. The kiss meant nothing. Or rather it shouldn't have meant anything, but, for him, it did. Why else could he still feel her lips on his when he closed his eyes? Why didn't he want to let go of the memory even though he should?

_Should should should._

Sighing heavily, he ran a hand through his hair and drained his mug, the coffee as bitter on his tongue as the knowledge that he might have made a mistake. One that would be impossible to correct.

oOo

_She lay in bed, a tiny smile one her lips as his lips brushed across the bare curve of her shoulder. She couldn't remember when she had last been this happy. For the first time since he had agreed to marry him she was looking forward to her wedding with undiluted joy. Forever. She'd get to keep him forever. Or at least for the rest of her hopefully very long life. Gone was the dread that twisted her stomach into a knot whenever she thought past the wedding date. So she didn't. Not very often anyway. But she did now. Wondered what lay ahead, what the future might hold in store for them._

_He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She grasped his hand, intertwining her fingers with his and holding it close to her chest. To her heart. She pressed a kiss to his knuckles and he chuckled quietly into her neck. "Mac…" he whispered._

Mac jolted upright in bed. Disoriented, she blinked into the morning sunlight; for a moment she didn't know where she was and she had to shake her head twice before she remembered that she was in her bedroom. Where else would she be? "God," she whispered miserably as she tried to chase the lingering fragments of the dream out of her mind, at the same time fighting the desire to hang on to them.

Pulling up her knees against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she gazed at Mic's sleeping form beside her, unable to shake the feeling of dread churning in her stomach. This was wrong. This was so very wrong. Why did she keep dreaming about him? Because she didn't need to see a face in her dream to know that she hadn't been dreaming of her husband-to-be. Of all the men in her life there was only one who ever called her Mac; to the rest she was Sarah.

Lately, she'd been feeling like she was two completely different people who just happened to occupy the same body at the same time. The Sarah part of her couldn't wait to walk down the aisle and be married to a man who loved and cherished her and wanted to keep her forever. The Mac part dreaded all of this because she was afraid to lose her independence and, above all, to lose _him._ She found it increasingly difficult to reconcile these two sides of the coin that was Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie.

Quietly, she climbed out of bed and switched off her alarm so that it wouldn't wake Mic, who didn't have to get up as early as she did, and went to take a shower, picking up her clothes on the way. She locked the door behind her, something she rarely did, but she couldn't look Mic in the eye right now and if he did wake, he'd come looking for her and maybe even want to join her in the shower. Her stomach knotted at the thought.

She'd been so busy with last-minute wedding details that needed her attention this weekend that she'd barely had any time to think about her engagement party, but it seemed that her subconsciousness had finally caught up with her. Why else would she have dreamt about Harm?

_Oh who am I kidding?_ she thought as she stepped into the shower and turned on the water. It was ice cold, but she didn't change the temperature; maybe a cold shower would bring her to her senses. She was used to Harm starring in her dreams, expected to see him there, if she was honest. It probably said a lot about her relationship to Mic that she had never, not even once, dreamt about him in all those months they'd been together. She'd thought she'd had it under control, but she clearly didn't. Otherwise she wouldn't have kissed him.

Mac slammed her palm against the tiles, shivering under the steady stream of icy water. "Damn it," she said. _You have someone who'll always love you_. Why did he have to tell her then, damn him? But it wasn't like she hadn't known before what she meant to him.

That had never been the problem.

"Sarah?" she heard Mic call over the rushing water, and it snapped her out of her thoughts.

"I'm almost finished!" Hurriedly, she turned off the water and grabbed her towel, her fingers so stiff from the cold that she nearly dropped it twice. When she glanced in the mirror, her lips were blue.

"You okay?" Mic asked through the closed door. He sounded more confused than worried, his voice still thick with sleep.

"I'm fine." Tossing the towel aside, she started dressing, her skin still damp from the water. "Sorry if I woke you. I tried to be quiet." When had she started lying to him? And not just about the little things, but about the big ones as well. She was grateful that he'd stopped asking her to explain the thing between her and Harm to him, but she didn't think even for a second that he believed that there wasn't more between them than just friendship. Well, maybe it would have been more convincing if she actually believed it herself. 'Best friend' didn't cover all that he was to her and she knew that. But it was all that he could be. All that he was willing to be.

All that she could allow him to be.

"You didn't wake me," Mic said as she stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed. Pulling her against his chest, he kissed her. As she kissed him back, Mac had to fight the urge to shake off his arms—his gentle embrace felt suddenly constricting and wrong. The realisation made her stomach turn. They were getting married in less than two weeks, yet in this instant she could barely bear him touching her.

She pulled back abruptly and his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I have to go," she whispered, something close to panic slithering up her spine. Slipping into her shoes, she grabbed her briefcase and her keys along with her cap and fled her apartment without even glancing over her shoulder. She didn't want to see the confused expression on Mic's face that was surely there.

She wouldn't have been able to explain.

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**A/N: Please let me know what you think. Your reviews make me happy! :)**


	3. 2 Blinding

**A/N: Woke up to an in-box of reviews today. There can't be a better way to start a day. Thank you so much Ciara, rlrct, filesfreak4life and AvaniHeath for reviewing! **

**One new chapter now, the other later sometime tonight. The song that inspired this chapter is "Blinding" by Florence + the Machine.**

**A special thank you to AvaniHeath for her thoughts and support.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of David P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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**2 Blinding**

Groaning, Lieutenant Hannah Wright reached for her alarm clock. She missed it a couple of times before she eventually swiped it off the nightstand with her elbow. It hit the floor with a cracking sound and the irritating noise cut off in a warbled blare.

Oh great. She'd killed another one.

Hannah dragged her eyes open, staring groggily at the grainy ceiling, her mind foggy with sleep. God, she was getting old. These days, one glass of wine was all it took to send her into a coma. It was embarrassing. At least she'd been home alone and not out with friends. She'd never have been able to live that down.

Slowly, she sat up. Her head was spinning. She shook it, hoping that would chase the cobwebs of sleep away, but all it did was intensify the throbbing in her temple. She was feeling odd. Well, 'hung-over' was probably a better word to describe her present state, only she couldn't be hung-over because she'd only had a glass of wine, for God's sake. On a full stomach.

Maybe she was coming down with something.

Her head was pounding.

A scratching noise on the door caught her attention. When she didn't respond immediately, high-pitched and very annoying meowing replaced the scratching. Scowling, Hannah climbed out of bed, wobbling just a little as she padded to the door, the floor cold underneath her feet. As she opened it, her roommate's cat went quiet, staring up at her with wide green eyes, unblinking. It was unsettling.

"Alright, alright," she muttered when he swiped playfully at her shin with one paw, claws still sheathed. "Breakfast is coming right up." Taking a step forward, her vision blurred and she grabbed the frame of the door for support. Okay, this definitely wasn't normal.

The cat—Sully—meowed once and took off across the hall into Flo's room. Hannah stared at the open door, wondering what it was about the picture that was bothering her. Then the fog finally cleared and her mind shifted into working mode. Like her roommate Flo, she was an analyst, used to finding patterns and discrepancies and what she was looking at now was one hell of a discrepancy. Because Hannah hadn't opened that door and while Sully was capable of a lot of things, including prying open kitchen cabinets and windows, he fortunately couldn't turn a doorknob.

But maybe she was reading too much into this. Maybe she _had_ opened the door to get something out of Flo's closet and just didn't remember. She barely remembered what she'd had for dinner last night.

Or maybe Flo was back.

Yes, that had to be it.

Relief washed through her. Flo had gone UA a week ago, or so everyone had assumed. Hannah still had a hard time believing it. It wasn't like Flo to simply disappear. She always left a note, always called if she was running late. She even called her mother nearly every time before they went out so that she wouldn't worry when she called and nobody answered. Apparently, Flo's mum was a bit prone to overprotectiveness, what with Flo being the youngest of five kids and the only girl at that, and Flo seemed happy to humour her.

"Flo?" Hannah called as she rapped her knuckles lightly against the door. It swung open, revealing the bedroom behind it. The blinds were half-drawn and morning sunlight was streaming in, painting cheerful circles on the floor and Flo's impressive collection of shoes. From where she was standing, Hannah only saw the foot of the bed, so she went inside, careful not to step on anything. Flo wasn't exactly known for her tidiness.

"Florence?" Peering around the corner of the closet, Hannah found Flo in her bed, the blanket drawn up to her shoulders. She lay facing the window, her golden hair splayed out around her head on the white pillow.

"Flo?"

When she didn't respond, Hannah stepped closer. Flo always slept like the dead. She'd once slept through the GQ alarm on a destroyer she'd been stationed on. Nobody was ever going to let her forget it. "Flo, wake up. People have been looking for you. Do you know how much trouble you're in?"

No response. Sully darted out from underneath the bed, nearly giving Hannah a heart attack, and jumped onto the bed, rubbing against Flo's still form. He nudged her shoulder with one paw. Again she didn't react and worry tightened Hannah's stomach. "Are you sick?" she asked. "Flo?" She grabbed her roommate's shoulder and the blanket slid down. Hannah gasped in horror, her gaze locked on the bruises on Flo's skin. They were varying shades of purple, some so light that she knew they were at least a few days old, others so dark they looked more black than purple. They had to be fresh. Standing next to her, Hannah saw that Flo's golden hair was matted and caked with dirt; dried leaves and pine needles stuck to it like weird hair ornaments.

Dread knotted her stomach.

"Flo," she whispered in a thin voice. "Flo, please wake up." She touched her fingers to Flo's naked skin and withdrew them immediately. It was ice-cold. For a moment she stood frozen, her rapid breathing the only sound in the room. Giving herself a push, she walked around the bed, her hands shaking. She clenched them into fists, her fingernails digging painfully into her palms. "Flo?" she asked, louder now.

But part of her already knew that she wasn't going to receive an answer.

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**A/N: It's back to Harm and Mac in the next chapter. **


	4. 3 I almost do

**A/N: Next chapter! Enjoy! :) **

**"I almost do" by Taylor Swift inspired this chapter.**

**A thank you to Ciara and alix33 for reviewing and a thank you to AvaniHeath for her thoughts!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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**3 I almost do**

Although she'd stopped for breakfast on her way to work—breakfast she hadn't eaten because she wasn't hungry—Mac still arrived unusually early. She met only a handful of people as she made her way to her office. She automatically glanced left, half expecting to find Harm sitting behind his desk, but of course he wasn't there yet. Part of her was grateful for his absence, the other longed to see him, and she didn't know which was worse.

She should never have kissed him.

But she'd wanted to know what it would be like to feel his lips against hers again—this time knowing he was kissing her and not the ghost of his dead friend Diane—and to have him hold her. A taste, that was all she'd wanted. A taste of something that wasn't hers, would never be hers, so that she could put it out of her mind afterwards, forever. But she should have known it wouldn't work. After all, she knew from bitter experience that one taste was all it ever took to get her hooked.

Gradually, the others started arriving. Harriet waved at her from across the bullpen but fortunately was too preoccupied with her husband to come over and chat. While Mac was grateful that Harriet was in charge of the wedding preparations, she found it hard to muster the enthusiasm Harriet thought she should display. Of course she hadn't said anything—she never would—but Mac had noticed the way she'd looked at her during her last fitting. Remembering how excited Harriet had been in the days leading up to her wedding, Mac understood why it confused her that she didn't seem happy when, by rights, she should be.

Mac wasn't unhappy, but she wasn't quite happy either.

Perhaps because deep down she knew she was doing all of this for the wrong reasons.

The thought made her sit up straight, her mouth suddenly dry.

_Do you love him?_ Harm had wanted to know.

_You don't get to ask that_, she'd replied.

That she hadn't simply answered his question said a lot. But she did love Mic. She did. She did. Otherwise she wouldn't have agreed to marry him. Would she?

_Why did you have to go to him so quickly?_

_You pushed me away._

If she was truly and completely honest with herself, she'd gone to him because she didn't want to be alone. Because she was tired of waiting. Because she couldn't have the man she'd wanted then. But the problem was that she still wanted him. Knowing that she shouldn't—and that she couldn't have him—didn't make it any easier.

_What kind of person does that make me?_ Mac thought wretchedly. But then, how else was she supposed to move on? She'd never get past what she felt for Harm if she didn't at least try. It was hardly fair on Mic; she knew that. But she also knew that he suspected the depths of her feelings for Harm and he seemed willing to live with that. He loved her that much.

When Harm finally showed up almost an hour later, she was going over her notes again, re-familiarising herself with the key points. In her peripheral vision, she saw him pause in front of her office, but she'd closed the door so that nobody would disturb her unless it was important, and he moved on.

A lump rose in her throat. She didn't want to push him away, but she felt she had no choice. She didn't trust herself around him. She'd kissed him once. She might do it again—or might take things further still—and she couldn't count on him to stop her.

She barely said a word to him on the way to the courtroom, ignoring the confused looks he shot her. He acted just as always, good-natured and cheerful. He'd quite obviously decided to pretend Friday hadn't happened. She wished it would be as easy for her as it was for him. But _she_ had kissed _him_, not the other way around.

"You okay?" he asked her after the trial, intercepting her on her way back to her office.

She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, afraid of what he might see in her face. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just didn't sleep very well." Not quite the truth, but not a lie either. She hated lying to him, mainly because it was pointless. He always knew when she wasn't telling the truth, he just never called her on it or pushed her. He let it go until she was ready to talk.

Only this time she couldn't confide in him. It would only complicate matters further and her life was already complicated enough. "I'm fine," she insisted, forcing a smile when she sensed that he wouldn't let it go.

"Okay," he said in reply, with a smile of his own. "So…" He fell in beside her as they walked to the elevator. "How was your weekend?"

"Busy. Harriet and I had a lot of errands to run." For which she was still profoundly grateful. She'd been completely wiped out when she got home Saturday night and gone straight to bed, and Mic had been out with friends last night, so they'd had very little alone time. "You?"

"Spent it with Renée."

The way he said it made her think that he'd rather have spent his weekend in a different manner, but she didn't ask. She didn't want to get involved.

"Nice," she said, realising he was waiting for a reply. She hated how cold she sounded, how distant. How long would she be able to keep this up before the distance between them became unbearable?

They stepped into the elevator. Again Mac found herself alone with him; nobody was riding down with them. As she reached for the button, so did he, his palm soft and warm against the back of her hand. She quickly dropped it, curling it into a fist, and let him push the button. He didn't say anything, but the heavy silence between them spoke volumes.

Because it hadn't been just the kiss.

oOo

Harm couldn't stop himself from glancing Mac's way as they stood in front of Chegwidden's office, waiting for him to call them in. If she noticed, she didn't let on. But perhaps she didn't; she still seemed preoccupied and he wondered why that was. Surely not because of Friday? He had expected things to be awkward, but her evasiveness confused him. There was something she wasn't telling him. When he'd asked her just now how she was doing, she'd lied. He'd seen it in her face, that indecisiveness—tell him the truth or lie? He could even pinpoint the exact moment she'd decided on the latter. She wasn't a bad liar, but she'd never been able to fool him. She always became withdrawn, detached, when there was something she didn't want to share. He wondered why other people never picked up on that.

But other people probably weren't watching her as closely all the time as he was.

He wouldn't push the issue. She'd come to him when she was ready. He wanted her to let him in because she wanted to, not because she felt he was pressuring her. She was just as bad at confiding in other people, of letting someone in, as he was.

But what if she didn't want to talk to him because it was because of Friday? Because she'd decided that she needed to put some distance between them? Hard as it would be, he'd have to accept it. Part of him even understood; she couldn't hold on to him when she was getting married to another man in less than two weeks, and if kissing her made him question _his_ relationship, then how was she handling it?

His gaze dropped to her hand. The memory of the back of his hand brushing against hers as they had listened to Chegwidden's toast warmed his thoughts, yet part of him was horrified. It was one thing for her to kiss him, but quite another for him to reach out for her when she was tied to another man. And that light touch had been more intimate than the kiss itself.

"He'll see you now," Tiner announced, breaking into his reverie. He stepped past them to open the door, closing it behind them once they had entered.

The atmosphere in the office was tense and all thoughts of Mac instantly vanished from Harm's mind. The admiral was sitting behind his desk, his jaw set and his eyes dark. He gestured for them to take a seat when they snapped to attention, then rose, slowly walking around his desk to join them. As Harm sank into one of the armchairs, he noticed the Marine general standing by the TV, his face drawn and his lips pressed together in a tight line. He looked like a man who'd just been through hell. He glanced at Mac, who gave a tiny shrug, her forehead creased.

She'd noted the tension too.

"Commander Rabb, Colonel MacKenzie, this is General Jonathan Acker," Chegwidden said, his voice flat.

Harm sat up a little straighter and, from the corner of his eyes, saw Mac doing the same. There were very few things that got to the admiral like that. Whatever had happened, whatever the reason he'd called them into his office, it was bad.

"The general is a friend of mine," he continued as he sat down, hands clasped loosely in his lap. "Which is why I've decided to agree to this. Jon?" He motioned for Acker to sit down as well, but the general merely gave a minute shake of his head, his shoulders stiffening. He swallowed visibly.

"Alright," Chegwidden said quietly. "Seven days ago the general's daughter, Lieutenant Florence Acker, went missing from Norfolk Naval Station. This morning her body was found by Lieutenant Hannah Wright, her roommate, in the quarters they share—shared—on-base."

"I'm sorry, Sir," Mac said sincerely.

The general gave a curt nod. Perhaps he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Her CO assumed she went UA, but clearly that wasn't the case."

"We knew something was wrong," Acker rasped. He slumped into the chair beside Chegwidden, his shoulders sagging. He looked broken. But then, the man had just lost his daughter and Harm could imagine without difficulty what he must be feeling. In all the investigations he had ever led, all the interviews he had done, talking to those left behind was always the hardest part for him. He could relate only too easily.

"We knew something was wrong," he repeated. His hands tightened on his thighs. "Flo would never run off like that. She loves being in the Navy. She loves her job. She'd never do anything to jeopardise her career and she'd never simply disappear. She knows how much her mother worries."

He was still speaking of his daughter in the present tense. It hadn't sunk in yet that she was gone.

"We were expecting the worst," he went on, "but when the NCIS came by our house this morning…" He looked up, meeting Harm's eyes. "I guess we'd been still hoping that Flo would return to us alive." He drew a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were hard as steel. Squaring his shoulders, he sat up. When he spoke next, his tone was brisk. "Of course the agent didn't want to tell us exactly what happened, so I gave Lieutenant Wright a call. I may have been too hard on her," he admitted, "but I'm sure you understand that I have to get to the bottom of this, and I will. I don't doubt that NCIS is very good at what they do, but I need someone on this I can trust. Someone who won't spare me the details and who keeps me in the loop and this agent—Rhys or something—made it clear that he won't."

"You said your daughter was found in her quarters this morning, Sir?" Mac asked.

"That's correct, Colonel. And by the ME's estimate, she'd already been dead for at least three hours when Wright discovered her."

Harm wondered how he'd gotten that piece of information. Probably by twisting an arm or two. Distraught as he was, Acker didn't seem like the kind of man you'd want to cross. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said he'd get to the bottom of this.

Mac stared at the general, repulsed. She must have reached the same conclusion Harm had. Someone had held Florence Acker captive somewhere for a week before killing her and returning her body home. Harm thought that he should be shocked, but he'd seen up close what human beings were capable of and it no longer surprised him; it only made him angry.

Acker gave a bitter laugh. "Yes, Colonel. Someone abducted my daughter from a secure naval base and, over the course of seven days, tortured and raped her. And then he brought her home and strangled her in her own bed. He murdered her in a place where she was supposed to feel safe." The last part of the sentence came out as a snarl.

Chegwidden glanced at his friend, but if he'd hoped to calm him, it didn't have the desired effect.

"I want this bastard found, AJ," Acker said sharply. "I want him to pay for what he did to my girl."

"I promise you that we'll do everything in our power to help," Chegwidden said calmly. "You have my word."

"Thank you."

A beeper went off just then. Acker dug it out of his pocket, his gaze hardening when he looked at it. "Damn media vultures," he ground out as he got to his feet. "I'm sorry, AJ. I need to leave. Somehow the media already got wind of this and are camping out on our front lawn. As if we haven't been through enough already. I'll trust you keep me informed?" he asked, directed at Harm and Mac.

"Of course, Sir," Harm replied.

"Certainly, Sir," Mac said.

They exchanged a quick look. The doubt in her eyes matched his own. If this was his daughter, would he want to know every gruesome detail of what had happened to her? Of what had been done to her?

Knowing how she'd died and suffered wouldn't make the pain go away.

Chegwidden seemed to share his opinion. "Just to be clear, you'll report to me," he said once the general had left. "I'll handle Acker. Right now he isn't thinking straight and when he's had some time to process it, he won't want to live with the knowledge of what his daughter had had to endure prior to her death. At least I wouldn't want to." He sighed heavily. " I'm sure both of you realise the implication of this?"

"Since her murderer managed to abduct her from a heavily guarded naval base," Harm said slowly, "and then bring her back unseen, he's most likely stationed there as well and knows his way around. Otherwise he'd have been noticed."

"Yes. It also means that Norfolk has a serious security problem, which is what you'll officially be investigating. I want to know how he got her off and on base without anyone noticing. That should be close to impossible."

"The NCIS won't like us interfering with their investigation," Mac said.

Chegwidden snorted. "Since when has stepping on people's toes ever stopped the two of you from doing your job?"

They exchanged another look.

"Understood, Sir," Harm said.

"I can't spare you for more than three days, what with your on-going cases, and if you haven't found anything until then, I want you back here. I hope this won't be interfering with your wedding preparations, Colonel?"

"No, of course not," Mac said hurriedly, almost sounding… relieved?

Chegwidden quirked an eyebrow at her, then shrugged and got up, obviously deciding that it was none of his business. "This is a copy of the ME's report," he said as he handed Harm a thick manila envelope. "I don't know how General Acker got it and I didn't ask. It also contains a copy Lieutenant Acker's service record and personnel file. Let me know if you find anything. I've known Flo since she was three years old," he said when they were already halfway out the door. His voice was dangerously quiet and his eyes hard and cold. "I want whoever did this to her brought to justice as much as her father."

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**A/N: Please let me know what you think!**


	5. 4 Treacherous

**A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews on the last chapter Ciara, achaon, alix33, and AvaniHeath (and they still make me smile as much as they did when I first read them last night).**

**Also, another huge thank you to AvaniHeath for her thoughts and support! **

**The chapter was inspired by "Treacherous" by Taylor Swift. I may be a little obsessed with her latest album.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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**4 Treacherous**

Fate, Mac thought, had a twisted sense of humour. It had pulled them apart time and again, only to throw them together when they most needed to be away from each other. Like they did now. She was not looking forward to the three-hour drive to Norfolk and if there'd been any way to avoid it, she'd gladly have taken it. Unfortunately, there was no flight scheduled out of Andrews until the late afternoon and considering that they only had three days to complete their investigation, they couldn't wait that long.

Driving it was.

Mac always had an overnight bag in her trunk as she was a firm believer of being prepared—like all Marines were—but squids generally lacked that much foresight, so she found herself in Harm's apartment an hour after the admiral had dismissed them, watching from the threshold as he stuffed a change of clothes into his duffel bag. He'd asked her to come inside and offered her something to drink while she waited, but she'd declined. She really didn't think she should be in here right now.

She used the opportunity to see if his apartment had changed since she had last visited him. She only vaguely remembered when that was; she hadn't come here since he'd started seeing Renée, not even to discuss a case. They always did that at the office now.

Mac had no ill feelings towards Renée, but she never knew what to talk about with the other woman and she'd rather not run into her, especially not here. Mac was neither blind nor stupid and knew exactly that Renée saw her, if not as a threat, then at least as an obstacle on her path to happiness with the man she loved. She wondered if all women in Harm's life felt that way about her. Jordan surely had and Mac didn't know how to feel about that. Flattered? Or shocked at how obvious it seemed to be to everyone around them that there was something going on between them?

Stepping into the hallway, she retrieved her cell from her bag to give Mic a heads-up that she would be gone until Thursday. She hated how relieved she felt at the thought, but perhaps being away from him for a while would give her enough time to put things in perspective.

He answered on the second ring. "Hello, love," he said, his usual way of greeting her. Usually, it made her heart warm and her cheeks blush; today all she felt was apprehension. She had to get over this and quickly. They were getting married in thirteen days, three hours and seventeen minutes.

"Hey," she replied, relieved that, despite her inner turmoil, her voice sounded normal. "Am I interrupting?"

"Nothing that can't wait until later. Everything all right? You left in quite a hurry this morning."

She had yet to come up with an explanation and was beginning to believe that there wasn't one. "I know," she said, dropping her voice when she heard Harm rummaging around in the kitchen. She didn't want him to overhear. "I'm sorry. I honestly don't know what got into me. I didn't sleep well last night. Bad dream." Another lie. How many would follow? How long would she be able to keep this up?

_But it's necessary_, she argued. _I don't want to hurt him._

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he asked. "I would have comforted you."

"You looked exhausted," she replied. "I didn't want to wake you." Part of her was mortified at how easily the lie fell from her lips. But she could hardly tell him the truth. _I dreamt of sleeping with Harm._

She swallowed, pushing the mental image back down. Suddenly walking to Norfolk seemed like a pretty good alternative. Maybe if she left now, she'd be there by tomorrow evening.

"You can tell me about it tonight," he suggested.

"Yeah, about that…" She let her voice trail off. Mic already knew that tone.

"Don't tell me," he said, amusement mixed with was weariness. "You'll be working late?"

"Sort of. I have to go to Norfolk. There's been a murder and Chegwidden needs us to investigate. Looks like they might have a security problem." A second later she realised what she'd said and could have kicked herself.

Mic picked up on it immediately. "Us?" he asked, guarded. "As in you and…?" He didn't finish the sentence, but Mac knew that he knew exactly who she'd be with. Chegwidden usually sent Harm and her, even when it didn't involve something as serious as murder. They were an efficient team because they were familiar with how the other thought and worked.

"Harm," she said, this time without any of the exasperation she usually felt when Mic brought him up. If anything, she sounded defensive. "We should be back by Thursday, maybe earlier, depending on how it goes. I know this is bad timing," she added when he didn't reply immediately. "But Chegwidden is friends with the father of the murdered Lieutenant, so this is kind of personal for him. You'll probably hear about it on the news soon."

When Mic answered, his voice was soft and understanding. "I see. Have a safe flight then."

Mac chose not to tell him that they were driving. Somehow she thought he'd have felt as apprehensive about that as she did. The only difference was that he trusted her while she didn't. Not anymore.

"We will. I'll call you tonight," she promised. "Say hello to Jingo from me." She'd completely forgotten to feed him and take him for his walk this morning, but she knew Mic would have taken care of that. She'd have to thank him for it later. He did a lot of things for her that she never properly thanked him for.

Guilt accompanied the thought. As she hung up, she felt wretched. Running her hand through her hair, she turned and found Harm watching her from the doorway, his bag beside him. She quickly smoothed her pained expression, hoping he hadn't noticed it. If he had, his eyes didn't betray it.

"You ready?" he asked as he pulled the door shut and locked it, slipping the key in its hiding place.

"Yeah." She gave him a smile that she hoped seemed honest. "Want to flip a coin for who gets to drive?"

oOo

Harm lost.

He settled into the passenger's seat with the ME report, but he didn't open it until they were out of the city. The radio was on, playing at a volume that made conversation impossible. He was certain now that Mac didn't want to talk to him and based on her tone when she'd spoken to Mic earlier, he had a pretty good idea why that was. She felt guilty. He wished he could tell her that she had nothing to feel guilty about, but he didn't want to lie to her. So he said nothing, instead flipping through the report without looking too closely at any of the detailed pictures while listening absently to the news.

"I can't imagine what she must have felt like," Mac said eventually, turning down the radio to background noise.

"Neither can I," he agreed softly. He tugged the Lieutenant's service photo out of her personnel file. It showed a woman in her late twenties, with a soft face framed by golden hair, her full lips curved into the slightest smile. Her blue eyes were sparkling. She looked alive and proud, a stark contrast to the photo in the ME report. "She was beautiful."

Mac took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at the picture. "She was. Do you think it's possible what happened to her had something to do with her work?"

"I doubt it. According to this," he held up a slip of paper that contained a brief description of what Florence Acker had been working on prior to her disappearance, "it was pretty normal stuff and certainly nothing sensitive. But," he added with a sigh, "we shouldn't rule it out just yet."

"What did he do to her?" Mac asked quietly.

He opened the ME report to the first page and read it to her, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice as he listed the injuries that Florence Acker had sustained before she was killed. "The ME found shallow cuts all over her body, some already scabbed over, others more or less fresh. A lot of bruising." He made himself look at the ME pictures. Dark bruises ringed the Lieutenant's neck, with lighter discolourations on both her shoulders, running down the entire left side of her body. "The ME also found signs of repeated sexual assault but no DNA, and he estimates that she was beaten at least three times during the past seven days. She had two broken ribs and her left wrist was fractured."

"That is so sick," Mac said flatly, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles were straining white against her skin. But she didn't ask how somebody could do something like this to another person because they both knew what human beings were capable of.

Harm sighed and stuffed the report back into the envelope, tossing it onto the backseat. Sitting back, he watched the landscape whir past, a blur of green and brown, with blotches of colour in between whenever they passed signs of civilisation.

Mac went back to ignoring him. He watched her from his peripheral vision, trying to be unobtrusive about it, but when her shoulders tensed he knew she'd caught him looking. "What?" she asked sharply.

"You look tired," he said quietly.

"I already told you I didn't sleep well last night." Her tone made it clear that she wanted him to drop it. But there was something else, something she wasn't telling him. Red tinged her cheeks and her embarrassment confused him.

He frowned. "If this is about Friday…"

She cut him off. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Mac…" Pretending nothing had happened wasn't working. Perhaps talking about it would help.

"No!" she all but shouted, then flinched, visibly shocked that she'd raised her voice. "No," she repeated, more quietly. "Please. I can't. Just forget it ever happened."

_What if I can't?_ he wanted to say, but he bit back the words. He wouldn't make this any more difficult for her than it already was.

So he said nothing.

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**A/N: Please review! I love hearing what you think.**


	6. 5 Everything has changed

**A/N: Hope I didn't keep you waiting for this update too long. Life has this annoying habit of getting in the way of my writing. Thank you for your lovely reviews, roz, alix33 and AvaniHeath. They made me happy.**

**A special thank you to AvaniHeath for her beta skills and general wonderfulness!**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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**5 Everything has changed**

They stopped for lunch at a little diner in the middle of nowhere. Mac parked the car beside a truck and got out, breathing in the pleasantly warm air that smelled of summer. It did nothing to clear her head, however, and when Harm slammed the passenger door shut, she flinched. As she locked the car and followed him across the parking lot, the gravel crunching underneath her feet, she hoped that he hadn't seen her reaction.

But then, he already knew that something was wrong, so it didn't matter either way.

At least he'd let it go when she'd told him to. For a moment—a moment that had lasted barely a second but had felt much longer because of the panic closing around her chest—she'd feared that this time he'd lose his patience and push her until she surrendered. She had no doubt that he'd be able to extract whatever information he wanted if he truly tried; he knew how to make people talk and he knew even better how to push her buttons. It was to his credit that he hadn't tried, but even Harm's patience had limits and she wondered how long it would last.

A bell chimed quietly above the door as Harm pushed it open, letting her enter first. The waitress, a young woman in her early twenties with short-cropped black hair and silver hoops dangling from her ears, turned at the sound, pausing in her task of refilling the coffee pot. "Sit wherever you like," she called from behind the counter, gesturing at the free booths. Then she frowned when she got a proper look at them and her hands stilled. "I'll be with you in a minute. Can I get you some coffee?"

"Sure, thanks," Mac replied.

She smiled. "Coming right up…Ma'am." She added the 'ma'am' as an afterthought, her voice hesitant as if she wasn't quite sure about the correct form of address.

As soon as they had found a place to sit, the waitress appeared at their table and set down two red mugs that matched the vinyl covering the seats. "I just made it," she said in a cheerful tone as she poured the coffee while trying to be inconspicuous in her scrutiny of both of them. "May I bring you anything else?"

As they ordered, Mac didn't comment on Harm's choice of lunch and he didn't comment on hers. He just sat there, drinking his coffee as he gazed out the window into the parking lot, watching a group of teenagers that stood clustered around a blue pick-up truck, cheering at each other while they were smoking. Mac's stomach dropped. She missed the banter that usually accompanied the meals they had together, but with the way things were between them right now, it wouldn't have felt right.

She never should have kissed him.

But she had and now she had to figure out where to go from there. The thought of cutting Harm out of her life made her throat close up. _What I want most is to never lose you_, he'd said and the truth was that she didn't want to lose him either. Part of her knew it was inevitable. She knew they'd drift apart eventually until the spheres of their lives no longer collided outside work, maybe not even there. She hadn't given much thought of how things would change after the wedding, but change they would. And there would be no place for Harm in her life then.

There couldn't be. She owed that to Mic.

"Where are you headed?" the waitress asked when she brought their lunch. "We don't see a lot of the military around here."

"Norfolk," Harm said.

The girl's eyebrows knit together in concern. "It's awful what happened there today," she said in a subdued voice, all cheerfulness gone. She clutched the empty tray to her chest, absently playing with her earring. "That poor woman. It's been all over the news." She jerked her chin at the tiny TV on the counter that Mac hadn't noticed before. The volume was down, but as the service photo of Florence Acker hung in the right upper corner of the screen, Mac had a pretty good idea what the anchorwoman was talking about. "Isn't a naval base supposed to be safe?"

Mac looked at Harm and by his frown, she could tell he was thinking along the same lines. It seemed like they media hadn't yet realised what had been so clear to both of them from the moment Acker had told them that his daughter had disappeared off the base and then brought back to her quarters. Only someone who was intimately familiar with base security and its weaknesses could pull off something like this. Which, in turn, meant that their perpetrator was most likely military as well. As soon as that bit of information leaked, the media would be all over this like vultures over a cadaver. SECNAV would pitch all kinds of fits once he got wind of it—it was a PR disaster. Mac didn't envy the NCIS agent in charge. If he screwed up or didn't deliver results fast enough, his career might suffer a blow from which it probably would never recover.

You just had to love politics.

They ate their lunch in silence. Mac's appetite still hadn't returned, but she forced the burger down anyway. Halfway through their meal, Harm's cell phone started ringing. He took it out of his pocket reluctantly. "I need to take this," he said once he'd checked the caller ID, not sounding particularly happy. "I'll be right back."

"Hey," he said as he made his way outside. "Thanks for calling me back. Yes, I…" The door closed behind him, cutting off his voice mid-sentence. Dropping her burger on the plate, Mac watched as he paced along the front of the diner, absently running his hand through his hair. Was that Renée calling him?

_None of your business_, she reminded herself. She pushed the plate with the half-eaten burger away and sat back, arms folded in front of her chest. Why couldn't she let go? Why couldn't she move on? She'd tried. God, how she'd tried! But then she caught him looking at her like she was the centre of his universe and it all came rushing back, feelings she was fighting so hard to keep at bay flooding her mind until her world didn't make sense anymore.

"Damn you," she whispered. Anger flared in her chest, hot and irrational. It wasn't his fault that she couldn't get over him, but why did he have to make it so difficult for her? He'd missed his chance. He'd pushed her away. Now he had to live with the consequences.

_Are you sure he's the one who can't live with it?_ a voice in her mind whispered. You _kissed _him_, remember?_

Lifting her head, she looked directly into Harm's eyes; caught up in her own misery as she was, she hadn't heard him come back. His lips curved into a sad smile that told her that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and her anger evaporated, leaving only bleak despair behind.

oOo

Renée was understandably unhappy.

"I didn't exactly have a choice," Harm said defensively, having trouble keeping his voice even. He didn't want to go into this right now. Part of him felt guilty about having to cancel their date, but mostly he was glad that he wouldn't have to see her again until Thursday, which made him feel even guiltier. Renée deserved someone who actually wanted to spend time with her, someone who _made_ time for her. Of course, it was true that he'd had no choice as far as this assignment was concerned, but he wasn't all torn up about it either. Which said more about his relationship that he cared to think about at any given moment. Sooner or later he'd have to make a decision, but not right now. Not while he was on his case and not while things between him and Mac were this weird.

"I know, I know," Renée admitted. She sighed and he heard a door close, the falling and swelling of voices cutting off. "Just my luck, I guess. You wouldn't believe the day I'm having." Something scraped over the floor. "Any idea when you'll get back?"

"Thursday at the latest, maybe sooner," he replied, relieved. A voice in his mind nagged him to ask her about her day—obviously, she was upset about something and it didn't just have to do with the fact that he was out of town—but he didn't want her to launch into a lengthy explanation.

_Some boyfriend you are._

"Depends on what we'll find," he made himself add; he didn't want to sound like he was trying to get rid of her. "Chegwidden wants us to look into a homicide."

Silence at the other end of the line.

"You still there?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm still here." Another pause, and silence again except for an even tapping sound, fingernails drumming on wood. "I assume when you say 'we', you mean you and Mac?" By her tone alone he could tell that her perfectly shaped eyebrows were arched disapprovingly. Unlike this morning, she didn't try to hide her irritation.

"Renée," he began, the anger he suddenly felt only poorly concealed. He wasn't in the mood for this right now, with Mac acting weird and the ME photos still fresh on his mind. He was also painfully aware that he had no right to be angry with Renée for being jealous—especially considering that it wasn't exactly unjustified—but he pushed the thought away. He'd deal with it when he got home, when things hopefully had gone back to normal and when Mac was her old self again.

_Assuming that's going to happen_, he thought as he glanced over his shoulder, studying Mac's face through the window. She was unhappy and it tore at his heart the he was the reason for it. That she was the one who'd initiated the kiss didn't matter; he still felt responsible. He thought he understood now why it was bothering her so much. Why it was worse for her than it was for him and why she couldn't seem to put it out of her mind.

_Because_ she'd initiated the kiss. She didn't feel guilty only because she'd kissed him—she felt guilty because of what it implied. Of what it said about her relationship. And it was one thing for Harm to question his relationship to Renée, but quite another for her to question her's to Mic.

Because he wasn't planning on marrying Renée in two weeks.

"I have to go," he said into the phone. He didn't want to argue with her; he just wanted to be left alone so that he could focus on this case. And on Mac.

"Of course you do," she retorted, in a chilly tone. "Fine. Bye." With that, she hung up and he was left standing in the parking lot, feeling a strange mixture of relief and anger that was directed at himself more than it was at her.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, sliding the phone back in his pocket. The teenagers eyed him curiously from across the lot, one boy even going so far as to point a finger at him. Harm surmised that they weren't used to seeing people in uniform, other than their local sheriff. Forcing a smile, he waved at them before he went back inside. The waitress peered up from behind the counter when the bell chimed, but when she saw that it was just him, she went back to whatever it was she was doing.

Mac seemed to be done with her burger, which sat half-eaten on the plate in front of her, her crumpled napkin on top of it. She didn't acknowledge him when he slid back into his seat; she was gazing intently at the metallic surface of the table and probably hadn't noticed his return. For once her emotions were plain on her face—a certain sign that she thought she was still alone—and changing in rapid succession. Sadness followed by despair followed by anger. He wished he could make it all go away. Wished that he hadn't let her slip out of his reach.

But even more he wished that he hadn't ended what they could have had before it had even begun.

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**A/N: Please let me know what you think! **


	7. 6 Seven devils

**A/N: Very short chapter for now, but there will be another one later this day, or tomorrow! **

**As for the lovely reviews you wrote:**

**Ciara: So glad you're enjoying this! I hope the next chapters won't disappoint.**

**Katie: Thank you so much! Your review put a huge smile on my face. I promise I will finish this. Might make me a while to get there, but I don't leave something undone if I can help it.**

**alix33: Ha, Renée always did remind me of Barbie. I have no idea what Harm ever saw in her. Then again, she was available and willing, so...**

**achaon: I agree. They'll definitely have to talk about this and they will. But it might not be what you expect.**

**Thank you all so much!**

* * *

**This chapter was inspired by "Seven devils" by Florence + the Machine.**

**A very special thank you to AvaniHeath for her beta skills and wonderful comments!**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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6 Seven devils

His eyes were fixed on a house a little distance away. It was one of many in a row of almost identical houses, but today it stood out. Yellow crime scene tape flapped noisily in the wind. Two Marines flanked the entrance to make sure nobody trespassed onto the crime scene.

He hadn't been here this morning when her body was found; he'd been scheduled for a routine exercise along with the rest of the men under his command. His performance hadn't exactly been stellar, which was no surprise, considering he'd been up all night. He'd make up for it next time. Besides, he didn't expect to find another one so soon. He'd have to keep a low profile for a while, make sure nobody was on to him.

He knew NCIS would knock on his door sooner or later because he lived so close to the crime scene. He'd tell them that he hadn't seen anyone around who didn't belong, which wasn't a lie. He did_ belong. _They probably suspected that whoever had killed Florence Acker was also stationed at Norfolk, but they'd have a hard time narrowing it down. He knew he'd left no traces. He was too experienced for that. Too meticulous.

Nobody would be able to connect him to her murder.

As he turned to go back inside, someone called his name. He paused and looked over his shoulder down the street. One of his friends was was jogging up to meet him. "Man, that's messed up," he said once he was in hearing distance. He nodded at the house. "Couldn't believe it when I heard. How's your girl holding up?"

"Me neither," he replied, with just the right mixture of disgust and anger that struck him as the appropriate reaction to such a crime. He had lots of practice. "And she's fine, given the circumstances. Did you hear what that bastard did to Florence?"

"Some of it," his teammate said, grimacing. "Her poor parents. Scuttlebutt is her dad's a Marine general and he's been busy pissing off NCIS by interfering with their investigation. Even went so far as to get two JAG lawyers sent down here. They're going to be looking into base security."

That could pose a problem. While he doubted someone would discover the weakness it had taken him weeks to find, he couldn't rule it out. He'd have to be careful; nobody could know that he'd known about it all along and not reported it. Otherwise he was guaranteed to land on the suspect list.

"I hope they find the son of a bitch who did this," he said, hoping no such thing.

Yet he somehow managed to sound sincere.

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**A/N: I know this is short, but please review. You know I love hearing your thoughts. Next chapter soon!**


	8. 7 Fall away

**A/N: Thank you for reviewing, Ciara and alix33! A very special thank you to my beta AvaniHeath for her invaluable input.**

**This chapter was inspired by "Fall away" by the Fray.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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7 Fall away

Captain Andrew Pierce, the base CO, was in a foul mood when they reported in, but Mac got the impression that it had less to do with them—though in her experience, people didn't tend to be particularly fond of lawyers—and more with the media chaos at the front gates, which he couldn't do anything about. Mac wondered what they hoped to achieve since nobody would grant them access to the base, but she supposed they had to at least try. They were drawn to news such as this like sharks to blood.

"I already have my men looking into it," he told them tersely, "but I suppose two more sets of eyes won't hurt. And if you being here helps cleaning up this mess, by all means, do what you need to do. Just try not to get into Agent Rhys's way. I already had him in twice today, complaining about a general lack of cooperation."

Rhys, Mac surmised, was the NCIS agent leading the murder investigation.

"On second thought," Pierce continued, "I don't mind him getting knocked down a peg and based on what Admiral Chegwidden told me when he called me this morning, I gather the two of you are used to dealing with the NCIS."

That was a bit of an overstatement, considering that their paths didn't cross all that often, but Mac didn't think it was necessary to point that out.

"I know that he's probably a good man and under a lot of stress at the moment—as are we all—but I don't particularly care for his attitude." Pierce sat back, hands folded on the blotter on his desk. "Keep me informed. Dismissed."

"He wasn't happy to see us," Harm murmured as they walked down the corridor side by side.

"No," she agreed. "But considering what day he's probably been having, that's no surprise. Someone was abducted from and then murdered on his base. That's kind of a career killer."

Harm snorted. "You think?"

She shrugged. "At least he's cooperating. So…" This time she didn't let him hold open the door for her as they went outside into the afternoon sunlight; quickening her pace, she stepped in front of him, pushing the door open herself. She thought he hesitated before following her outside, but her back was to him and she couldn't be sure.

The flag on the pole by the main building snapped madly in the wind and although it was a bright day in August and there were only a handful of hazy white clouds in the sky, it was chilly. Mac rubbed her palms over her bare arms. "So," she repeated, "where do you want to start?"

They turned left towards a smaller building, where they'd been assigned an office. Lieutenant Acker had worked in the same building and it was where they'd been told her roommate Lieutenant Hannah Wright would be. She had insisted on going to work today.

"We should probably talk to Wright first, find out if she knows anything and what. Maybe she can give us an idea as to why someone would murder Lieutenant Acker."

"You thinking crazy boyfriend?" Mac asked, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"I'm just not ruling anything out," he replied, grinning at her doubtful expression, which made her lips curve into a smile.

For a moment Mac forgot that she was supposed to keep her distance from him. Being here with him, tossing ideas back and forth, making plans felt natural and normal and easy. Familiar, and she craved this familiarity. Then she remembered why she shouldn't and her face fell. She quickly looked away so that she wouldn't have to see Harm's reaction.

"Mind if I talk to her?" she asked. Anything to get away from him. After lunch, they had passed the rest of the drive in silence and Mac had a feeling that if she had to spend another hour with him in an enclosed space, she'd go insane. He hadn't tried to make her talk about what was bothering her, but his eyes had been on her the whole time as he tried to figure out what was going on inside her head. The intensity of his gaze had made her skin prickle.

Why did he have to keep looking at her like that?

_Do you want him to stop? _a voice whispered at the back of her mind.

_No_, she had to admit bitterly. _No, I don't. _

But she couldn't continue this way either.

"Of course not," Harm said quietly. "Meantime, I'll have a word with the head of base security, see what he's come up with. Maybe they've already found the breach. Finding out how he got her off base might help us narrow down the list of suspects. Which," he added with a sigh, "right now includes about any male stationed here."

"I don't suppose the NCIS will share what they've got so far," Mac replied, "but it can't hurt to ask. I'll see if I can track down this Agent Rhys after I talked to Lieutenant Wright."

oOo

"Lieutenant Wright, there's someone from JAG here to see you," Commander Paxton said, poking his head into the office Hannah shared with two other analysts. One of the desks was empty, the computer turned off. Although she'd wanted to work today in order to distract herself from the gruesome image of her friend lying dead on her bed, she couldn't stop looking at Flo's abandoned workstation.

"Thank you, Sir," she replied. She saved what she'd been working on—which wasn't much—and got up, stepping out into the hallway.

"You must be Lieutenant Wright," the female colonel waiting there for her said kindly.

"Yes, Ma'am," she replied, somehow managing the ghost of a smile. She wondered why someone from JAG would want to speak to her. She'd already told everything she knew to Agent Rhys and the thought of being interviewed again filled her with dread. Rhys's aggressive way of questioning had reduced her to tears. It had been humiliating and Hannah didn't want to cry in front of another stranger again. Once a day was enough.

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie. Let's go outside to talk?"

She must have seen Hannah's discomfort in her face and it was to her credit that she was trying to ease it. Which couldn't be said for Rhys, who'd kept bombarding her with questions she had no answers for. _If you were at home, then why didn't you hear anything?_ He'd asked that more than once and gotten the same answer each time—that Hannah had been fast asleep. However, for some reason he refused to believe her and this had made her feel like a criminal. That she'd still been hung-over when he'd interviewed her hadn't helped matters. Still, it was the truth and no matter how much she would have liked to tell him that she'd heard or seen something that would help them find Flo's killer, she couldn't.

That was exactly what she had told Flo's dad when he had called her at work only a few short hours before, questioning her with the same aggressiveness that Agent Rhys had displayed. Only he'd apologised to her afterwards and Hannah, knowing how close he and Flo had been, was inclined to feel sympathetic towards him and cut him some slack. She couldn't say the same for Rhys.

"Thank you, Colonel," Hannah said gratefully.

The wind had picked up since this morning and she was grateful for the chill in the air. Her stomach was still a little upset, her head throbbing viciously. She knew nobody would think any less of her if she went home before her shift was over—in fact, Paxton had repeatedly offered her to have someone accompany her home—but right now she had nowhere to go. Her apartment was still sealed off, though she'd been told that she could return there tonight as long as she didn't enter Flo's bedroom, which would be off-limits until NCIS was satisfied they hadn't missed anything.

"How long did you know Lieutenant Acker?" the colonel asked as they walked down the street towards the housing area. People passed them on their way, and Hannah thought they were staring at her. _That's just my imagination going wild_, she told herself. Only a handful of people knew that she'd found the body, most of them her direct neighbours and the people she worked with. Norfolk was the largest US naval station in the world and much like a small town. You knew the people you saw every day, and some in passing, but that was it.

"Sixteen months," she said. "We shared quarters for twelve. We got along well most of the time, aside from the occasional fight. Flo—Lieutenant Acker—always left her stuff lying around. It drove me nuts." Her throat closed up. The thought of never kicking Flo's shoes out of the way when she got home from work made her want to cry. "She was a good person." Her voice cracked and Hannah swallowed before she continued, "She was nice to everyone. She was responsible. She had a great sense of humour. Why would anybody want to hurt her, Ma'am?"

"Did she have a boyfriend?"

"NCIS asked me that too, Ma'am. No, she didn't and if there'd been someone, she would have told me." Again, Rhys hadn't believed her. "I'm sure of that. She wasn't one to keep secrets. I don't think she knew how, what with four brothers." A sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she recalled how Flo had told her to what great lengths said brothers had gone to unearth their baby sister's precious secrets. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she forced them back. Enough crying for one day. She really didn't want to embarrass herself in front of a senior officer.

"Do you remember anything about the day she went missing?" the colonel asked next. Her voice was quiet and full of sympathy. That brought the tears right back.

"I was," Hannah choked. She swallowed hard and started again. "I was out with my boyfriend that night. We went off-base to catch a movie. When I got back, it was past midnight and I thought Flo was already asleep. I didn't check on her." She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. "I had no reason to. She wasn't there when I got up the next morning, but that wasn't unusual either. She always went for a run before she had to report for duty. I didn't realise something was wrong until later. We share an office and she didn't show up on time. I tried to call her and when she didn't answer, I told Commander Paxton, our CO. Everyone assumed she'd gone UA, but Flo would never do that. She loved her job." She drew a deep, shaky breath. "I don't understand why I didn't wake up when he brought her back. I'm a light sleeper. I even wake up when Flo's cat scratches at the backdoor. I guess the wine I had was off." The last sentence was muttered under her breath and not intended for the colonel, but she'd heard and grew still for a moment, pausing mid-step before she resumed walking.

"What makes you think that, Lieutenant?" she asked, frowning slightly.

Why was that important? "The fact that I only drank one glass and it knocked me out cold, Ma'am. Not that my tolerance for alcohol is particularly high, but it's definitely higher than that and it was on a full stomach."

"Are you still feeling hung-over?" There was something in the colonel's voice that Hannah couldn't quite identify. Suspicion perhaps?

"Well," she said slowly, not sure how to answer without admitting that she'd reported for duty with a hang-over. She decided that if it helped finding Flo's murderer—though she failed to see how it possibly could or why this seemed to important—it didn't matter. "A little, I guess. More than I should."

"Did you rinse the glass?"

Hannah stared at her. The sudden urgency in her voice puzzled her. "Um, I don't think so, Ma'am. I did put it in the sink though, I think."

"Anything else you remember? Anything suspicious, anything that you think could have to do with Lieutenant Acker's murder?"

"Not at the moment, Ma'am." She'd been racking her brain for hours, but the pain in her temple made it hard to focus."

"Please call me if you remember anything else." She handed Hannah a card. "We're set up in your building, so you can probably find me there in case you can't reach me in my cell."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Hannah replied sincerely. Finally, someone was taking what she had to say seriously. Even if she doubted it would be of much help.

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**A/N: Review! Pretty, pretty please. You know I love hearing what you think.**


	9. 8 Say when

**A/N: I love how much you're enjoying this story!**

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**alix33: My NCIS guy is a bit of a jackass, but that might change in the near future. As for the wine, Hannah had the night the perp brought Flo back. She was out with her boyfriend the night Flo went missing, about a week before.**

**Ciara: Glad you liked it!**

**achaon: There will be romance… eventually. But what fun is romance without some angst first?**

**AvaniHeath: I LOVE reading your reviews. You know that, right? I kind of like writing from the killer's POV. Uh-uh, what does that say about me?**

**Anonymous guest reviewer: Hope I won't disappoint you!**

**Thank you all so much for sharing your thoughts with me. It's amazing that even almost ten years after the show ended there are still people out there who are so invested in it!**

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**A very special thank you to AvaniHeath for her beta skills and input and support and lots of other things. I'm glad we met. :)**

**This chapter was inspired by "Say when" by The Fray.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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8 Say when

"Sir, at this point we haven't the faintest idea how he did it," the master chief said apologetically, "but we've only been at this for six hours and we're talking about more than a hundred miles of security fence. He could have slipped through anywhere. It's going to take us at least four days to check it all and he might have gotten in and out another way." He gave a shrug. "It would be pretty easy getting in and out via the waterfront if you're familiar with the patrol schedule. We might know more tomorrow, but for now that's all I can tell you. I'm sorry, Sir."

"Thanks anyway, Master Chief," Harm said. "Keep me informed."

"Of course, Sir." With a polite nod, the master chief strode back to the group of men and women that stood clustered at the front of the room, their attention on a map of the base. Tiny black crosses marked the spots they had already checked. It weren't more than half a dozen.

_Not exactly encouraging_, Harm thought as he went back outside. The sun was dipping towards the horizon, the sky already a faint pink. Talking to base security had taken longer than he thought it would and led to nothing. By the looks of it, they were already doing the best they could and didn't need JAG lawyers breathing down their necks. But since they were hear to investigate a murder, he was perfectly happy to let base security do their job.

Hoping Mac had had better luck, Harm made his way back to their temporary office. She was sitting at the desk she'd claimed for herself, sorting through her notes.

She looked up as he entered, a pensive frown on her face. "Hey. How'd it go?"

"Dead end for now. They're looking into it, but it's going to take a while. Unless we get lucky, I don't think we'll find out anything before we have to head back to DC. How about you?"

"Well." She sat up a little straighter and he was glad to see that she was acting more natural around him now. He hoped it wasn't just because she was too focused on the investigation to think about the kiss. "I spoke to Lieutenant Wright and I may have figured out why she didn't notice anything last night." She pursed her lips. "I haven't heard back from NCIS yet though, so I can't be sure. Agent Rhys wasn't very forthcoming. I get why Captain Pierce doesn't like him." She huffed. "Anyway, Wright said that she had some wine last night and went straight to bed afterwards because it knocked her out, which made me think that she might have been drugged. I told Rhys and he said he'd have the glass she used examined, but as I said I'm still waiting for him to call me back."

"I'm surprised he followed that lead."

"So was I, but I got the impression that they haven't made much progress in their investigation yet, so he was probably grateful. Not that said even so much as thank you. To be honest, knowing if Wright was drugged probably won't help us find Acker's killer, but right now it's all that we have to go on. Besides, if he drugged Wright so that he could return Acker without being disturbed, he probably drugged her too before he abducted her. I don't think he could have taken her otherwise."

"Why?"

Mac shot him an amused look. "I thought you read her personnel file. Florence Acker was an expert at hand-to-hand combat. And that means that her abductor must be too, unless he kept her drugged the whole week. She would have fought back and maybe even have disabled him."

"She still might have caused some serious damage," Harm said. "But I guess we can't ask all male personnel to strip down for inspection."

She laughed, her brown eyes sparkling with amusement. "I don't think that would be appropriate," she agreed. "But it might help us narrow it down once we have more to go on. I also talked to Acker's neighbours and nobody saw or heard anything either. He was careful." She sighed, her amusement turning into frustration. "With any luck, he left traces of DNA at the crime scene—a hair or something—or fingerprints."

"Somehow I doubt that," Harm said as he sank into his chair. "He must have planned this for a while, so it's probably safe to say that he thought of that and didn't leave anything behind."

"A girl can hope." Mac sighed. "What?" she asked, noticing his suddenly thoughtful expression.

"You know," Harm said slowly, "given how thorough he was, this might not be the first time he's done something like this."

"That's a chilling thought," Mac replied quietly. "But wouldn't we have heard about it?"

"Not necessarily. Maybe this is the first time he abducted his victim. Maybe this is the first time he left her to be found. I'll call Bud, have him search for missing person reports and unsolved homicide cases in the vicinity of military bases that fit the profile. Want to go grab some dinner after I made the call?" He didn't mean anything other by what he'd said than he was hungry and would have liked company for dinner, but Mac had clearly heard something else entirely.

She stiffened, meeting his expectant expression for a fleeting moment before she looked away. "You know what?" she said as she stared at the computer screen. "I think I'm going to turn in. I'm not that hungry."

"It's half past six."

"I'm tired." She started gathering her things, eyes cast down.

"Mac, I think we should talk about it," he said softly.

Her shoulders tensed, her jaw set in a stubborn line. "Talk about what?"

_She really wants me to say it. _"That we kissed." He deliberately phrased it that way. 'We kissed' instead of 'you kissed me'. But he could tell it didn't make any difference.

She refused to look at him. "There's nothing to talk about. It won't happen again, so forget about it. Pretend it didn't happen."

"That doesn't seem to be working for you," he replied. He almost regretted having brought it up, but he didn't want her to be hurting and maybe talking about it would help.

"I'll see you in the morning," was all Mac said curtly in response. She left without a word of goodbye.

Harm stared after her. What was he supposed to do with her? Normally, he'd give her space. It had worked in the past. But for the next three days that wasn't an option. He just didn't know for how long he'd be able to stand her look at him full of regret and guilt. He didn't want this for her, but he didn't know how to make it better, or if he even could.

Perhaps that was why she'd been so distant all day. Because he couldn't make it better, because he was the cause for her pain. Because distancing herself from him was the only thing she could think of that would help her get past this. Help her forget or at least pretend that it never happened.

He'd always known that things would change after the wedding. She'd be Mic's then and although Harm had no right to think of her as his even now, in some ways he did. But in thirteen days she'd be married and there would be no place for him in her life then, not the way there was now. He suddenly realised that he'd counted on having those thirteen days to say his goodbyes before she slipped away.

But now it seemed that he had already run out of time.

oOo

Closing the door to her quarters behind her, Mac slumped against it and slammed her palms against it in frustration. _Why did he have to bring it up just when I forgot about it?_ But then, she hadn't really forgotten, just momentarily suppressed the memory. She knew he hadn't anything meant by it by asking her to have dinner with him. It wasn't like they hadn't done it before. But she had to stay away from him until she had figured out how to go from here, until she had found a way to banish him from her thoughts and from her heart. She couldn't do that as long as she was with him. He was a constant distraction, a reminder of what she had done. A reminder of what she craved but couldn't have.

She shouldn't be thinking about him all the time. It should have been Mic in her thoughts, but it wasn't. He was there, always hovering on the edge of her mind, but never in the centre of her attention. He was never her last thought before she fell asleep nor was he the first when she woke. And he should have been. She knew he should have been. But he wasn't. The dreams didn't help either. Why couldn't she dream of Mic the way she dreamt of Harm?

She made herself walk into the tiny kitchen. Rummaging around in the cupboards, she found a glass and filled it with water, taking a few sips before putting it down. The sun wasn't quite gone yet, the sky still a soft pink and the few clouds strewn across it tinged with crimson. Mac opened the window to let in the cool evening air. The smell of food drifted in on the breeze and her stomach growled. She was hungry after all, but she didn't want to go outside again, maybe run into Harm, whose quarters were just a few doors down.

Something moved in the bushes outside. Leaning forward, Mac peered into the shrubbery. The apartment was on the ground floor, but there was no backdoor. If she wanted to go outside, she'd have to use the main entrance. A streak of cream shot in through the open window and Mac flinched, startled, nearly knocking the glass of the counter with her elbow. She managed to grab it before it could fall and put it on the middle of the table before she scanned the room for whatever it was that had just jumped in the window. It turned out to be a cat. She found it in the hallway sniffing at her overnight bag.

Mac wasn't a cat person and had no idea how to handle them without getting scratched or bitten, but this one didn't seem to mind when she picked it up and, cradling it awkwardly in her arms, carried it back to the open window. "Out," she told it as she put it down on the counter. Sitting on its haunches, the cat looked at her for a moment, unblinking, its tail swishing slowly from side to side. "Out," she ordered, using her best command voice, which always worked with Jingo. In eight cases out of ten.

The cat didn't seem impressed.

Mac gave it a hesitant nudge. It didn't budge. Instead it yawned, revealing a set of needle-sharp teeth. Something silver around its neck caught Mac's attention. Gingerly—she still expected it to take a swipe at her—she reached for it. It was a round piece of metal, looking a little like the dog tag on Jingo's collar. _Sully_, it read on the front and on the back, _Flo Acker_, followed by a phone number_._

Mac sighed. "I guess you're masterless now," she said to the cat, trying not to think too hard about the fact that of all the people whose quarters the cat could have slipped into she'd picked the person investigating her master's murder.

_Creepy._

The cat, oblivious to her train of thought—then again, who knew with cats?—stared at her.

"You can't stay," Mac said. "Shoo." She pushed it towards the window, but it made no move to get up.

_Oh for heaven's sake_.

Mac lifted the cat up in surrender and carried it outside, where she set it down on the sidewalk. It wasn't that far to where Florence Acker had lived. Cats could find their way home, couldn't they? The cat sat there for a moment, tail swishing like a whip, then it got up, lazily crossing the street and disappearing into the bushes.

Mac straightened. This afternoon she'd spoken to most of the people who lived here. She found it hard to believe that nobody had seen anything, Lieutenant Wright being the exception. How had he done it? Carrying a body—dead or alive—wasn't exactly inconspicuous. _He definitely knows his way around_. How long did it take to familiarise yourself with the layout of a base as large as Norfolk? A week? Two weeks? A months? Harm was probably right when he said that Acker's killer had been planning this for some time, so it couldn't be someone who'd just transferred in. She'd discuss it with Harm tomorrow.

Part of him was looking forward to seeing him in the morning—like she always did—but part of her dreaded it. She was afraid he'd bring up the kiss again. She didn't want to talk about it because in this case talking wouldn't make it better. It would only remind her of all the things that were going wrong in her life, of all the things that weren't as they should be. Didn't he see why she had to keep her distance? Didn't he understand?

_He probably does_, the voice in her mind whispered. _But if even you don't like it, then why should he?_

Because they had no choice. Because _she_ had no choice.

She had to find a way to let go.

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**A/N: What do you think? Please review! :)**


	10. 9 My body is a cage

**A/N: This chapter was long in coming, but here it is. I'm uploading the next sometime tomorrow.**

**It was inspired by "My Body Is a Cage" by Peter Gabriel.**

**Enjoy!**

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**alix33: They're going to talk soon… it might not turn out the way you all expect though. Thank you for reviewing!**

**beachbabe: Sorry I kept you waiting so long! Thanks for taking the time to write a review.**

**rlrct: Thank you! To be honest, I'm curious too as to how the relationship issue will be resolved *laughs* But I have a few ideas.**

**AvaniHeath: Thank you, both for your lovely review (which I, and I know I'm repeating myself, just love!) and your help and support. :)**

**Thank you all so much for sharing your thoughts with me!**

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**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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**9 My body is a cage**

He hadn't expected to feel it again so soon.

He swallowed hard as he watched her set down the cat and gaze down the street, one hand on her hip. She was too far away for him to see her face properly, but he thought she was looking sad. Daylight was fading quickly now, yet he could see her quite clearly as she stood there, unmoving. He wondered what she was thinking. Curiosity stirred in him, sparking a sensation in his heart that he had come to hate as well as relish. The urge to possess. To break. To kill.

It tugged viciously at him, that sensation, and he locked his muscles in place to stay where he was, fighting the urge to go outside and talk to her again. Even after all this time he still didn't know why some women attracted him, woke the predator in him, while others didn't. But he did know that all it took was one look for him to know that she was the one. That he had to have her or he would go insane.

At first he'd tried to fight it. Hadn't wanted to be branded a monster. But he couldn't change who he was and he'd learned to accept it, embrace it even.

And now, as he looked at her, he knew that he couldn't let her escape.

The predator was growing restless. The satisfaction of the last kill was already wearing off, the memory fading until he could barely remember what it had felt like to touch her, could barely remember the soft moan that had escaped her lips as the life had drained out of her, the surge of power he had felt when his hands closed around her throat for the last and final time.

He'd chosen well. Better than he had in the past. Some had been too fragile, had broken too easily. They hadn't satisfied the predator in him. It enjoyed breaking the body quickly, but the spirit—now that was different. The predator wanted them to fight. She—Flo, as her friends called her—had. She'd presented a challenge. She'd yielded like the thin branches of a willow tree in the storm, but she hadn't snapped. She'd preserved her strength and she had done what none of the others had ever achieved. She'd escaped.

A smile tugged at his lips as he re-lived the memory, the excitement and the elation when he had discovered that she was gone. It had taken him the better part of the night to track her down; she'd covered more ground than he would have thought possible, but in the end it hadn't been enough. She'd been too weak, too damaged, too slow. But she'd refused to submit to him until the very end. Until he had brought her home to die. Then she had cried.

He wondered if _she_ would cry. He hoped not. He'd sensed strength in her when he had spoken to her this afternoon and strength aroused the predator.

He allowed himself one last look before he withdrew and began planning.

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**A/N: Please review :) I love hearing your thoughts.**


	11. 10 Everything I build

**A/N: I'm so excited about this chapter—you'll see why in a moment—and I really, really, really hope you like it.**

**It was inspired by "Everything I Build" by The Stills.**

**Enjoy!**

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**bloodymary2: So am I! To be honest, I enjoy writing these glimpses and getting into the killer's mind for a moment… It's fascinating, in a very disturbing way, but then mankind has always been drawn to the dark and disturbing.**

**rlrct: I know! :D I love cliffhangers, as long as I'm the one writing them.**

**Ciara: You're thinking right. We'll see if he succeeds. ;)**

**alix33: Yep. Let's hope Mac won't be an easy target.**

**Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me!**

**A special thank you to AvaniHeath for offering me her beta skills and support!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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10 Everything I build

_His touched his lips to hers, the echo of a kiss. She lifted her head, trying to capture his lips with hers, but he remained just out of reach, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a teasing smile as he hovered above her. As he shifted his weight, he slid deeper inside her and a soft moan escaped her lips. His eyes met hers. Darkened by pleasure, they reminded her of the storm-tossed ocean. Grey with flecks of blue. He held her gaze; it felt like he was seeing into the depths of her soul, a look that was more intimate than the most intimate of touches._

_This time he didn't pull away when she kissed him. His lips parted willingly, urgently moving against hers, his teeth grazing her bottom lip, his tongue in her mouth, dancing with hers. She ran her hands over his shoulders, which were slick with sweat, tracing the lines of the muscles underneath his skin. His hand was at the back of her head, buried in her hair, the other caressing the swell of her breast._

_She touched her palm to his cheek, brushing her thumb across his lips before she kissed him again. She hoped she would never get used to the sensation of his lips on hers, to the delicious taste of his mouth, to the husky scent of his skin. Reaching up, he grasped her hand and slid her fingers into hers._

Darkness enveloped Mac when she woke.

"No," she whispered into the silence. Sleep still shrouded her mind like a heavy blanket, echoes of the dream reverberating through her thoughts like soft ripples on the surface of a pond. She felt hot, flushed, and tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over and streaming silently down her cheeks.

"No," she whispered again. She wiped the tears away and sat up, slowly pushing the blanket away. The dreams always felt real, as real as dreams could possibly be, but never before like this, every sensation heightened, intensified. She remembered every detail vividly and with perfect clarity. The weight of his body. His lips on hers, his teeth teasingly grazing her bottom lip. Their fingers intertwined, either of them holding on to the other as he moved inside her, their hips meeting in a steady, gentle rhythm. The dream had left her aching for more, the need so acute it bordered on pain.

She didn't allow herself relief. Instead, she got up, stripping her clothes on the way to the bathroom, and stepped into shower. The water was freezing and it made her skin sting and prickle. It also washed away the tears, but the need continued to smoulder inside her.

This had to stop. She had to make it stop. But she didn't know how she could. This wasn't a question of mind over matter. She had no control over the subconscious. And even now part of her desperately wanted him, wanted to make the dream reality. Guilt wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing it tight. How could she marry Mic when she was so clearly attracted to another man? He didn't deserve this. He was a good man. He deserved someone who loved him with all her heart, someone who hadn't just gone to him because the man she truly wanted had pushed her away.

"But I do love him," she said, the splashing water nearly drowning out the words. And she couldn't have Harm. She knew this wasn't the right reason for being with Mic. But she was tired of waiting, tired of being alone. And perhaps once Harm was out of her life, she'd be finally able to achieve what was impossible now—let go.

Mac rarely thought past the wedding, of what her life would be like afterwards, but as she sat on the edge of the bed half an hour later, wrapped in a towel, she finally did. She'd shied away from the prospect of leaving DC, but now it seemed to her that she had no real choice in the matter. She knew now that she couldn't trust herself around Harm; if she continued to work with him, she might one day cross a line, take things farther than just a simple kiss, and she couldn't do that to Mic, who'd sacrificed so much to be with her.

_I want us to stay real close_, she'd told Harm at her engagement party. But she realised now that this wasn't an option. She could keep telling herself all she wanted that he was just her friend, but she knew it wasn't true. And perhaps it would make moving on easier for Harm too if she was gone. She didn't fail to see the irony—she had accused Harm of being incapable of letting go of things that kept him from moving on and now she realised that the same was true for her.

Mac lay back, arms by her side. The lamp on the nightstand cast a golden circle on the ceiling. It was half past two and she'd been asleep for only three hours after tossing and turning endlessly. She was tired, her eyes burning with exhaustion and tears she refused to shed, but she was afraid of going back to sleep. Afraid her subconsciousness would punish her with yet another dream, confront her with her inability to move on.

When morning dawned four hours later, she could barely keep her eyes open and she felt vaguely dizzy. All she wanted was sleep dreamlessly for a few hours, but as that wasn't an option, she dressed and went for breakfast. She took her time; she wasn't looking forward to seeing Harm this morning. She didn't know how to act around him now. She wondered if she should just go ahead and tell him why she needed the distance, but at the same time she was afraid that he'd use it as a pretext to make her talk about things she didn't want to discuss with anyone, least of all with him.

It had cooled down considerably over night. The wind was stiff, the treetops bending precariously under its force. Mac looked up as she headed briskly for the office, cold in her summer uniform; the sky was the colour of slate, the sun no more than a dull patch of glaring white behind the clouds. It looked like rain.

Harm was already there, sitting at his desk, the receiver of the phone wedged in between ear and shoulder so that his hands were free to type. He looked up as she entered, a smile on his face that instantly turned into an expression of concern when he got a proper look at her face. Mac had avoided the mirror this morning, but apparently she looked as awful as she felt. He mouthed a greeting, then said, "Yes, I'm still here, Bud. Good work. Thanks." He hung up.

"Anything useful?" Mac asked as she sat down, doing her best to sound normal. She couldn't tell if she had succeeded; he was frowning, but it could have been in response to something Bud had told him.

"Possibly," he said. "Bud managed to dig up seventeen unsolved murder cases. Similar MO and in each case the victim was either military or lived near a military base. He cross-referenced personnel stationed at the bases in question when the murders occurred with personnel stationed at Norfolk. He just e-mailed me a list of names." He clicked at something and a second later the printer on a filing cabinet in the corner started whirring. "Twenty-nine potential suspects. He has to be one of them."

"I hope so. We probably can also eliminate anyone who's been stationed here less than two to three weeks, maybe even a month. He…" Lifting her hand to her face, she stifled a yawn. God, she was tired. "He would have needed time to plan, time to find a weakness in base security, time to figure out where to stash and how to transport her. I can't see how that can be done in less than two weeks, even if he's done this kind of thing before."

"Good thinking," he said. She felt his eyes on her as he reached across the back of his chair for the list, but she didn't look up. "Then we're down to twenty-one," he said after a moment. A pen scratched over paper. "That's manageable."

"Speaking of base security, have you heard back from them?"

"Not yet, which probably means that they're still looking. How about you? You heard back from Agent Rhys yet?"

"Yeah, last night." His call had been a welcome distraction, even more so because she had been on the phone with Mic when he called. She'd been grateful for an excuse to hang up; she hadn't been doing a very good job of hiding her distress and Mic had kept asking her what was wrong. "I was right. Lieutenant Wright was drugged. Flunitrazepam. The tox screen on Acker's blood came back positive for it too."

Harm nodded at the sheet in his hand. "So if one of them has that stuff…" He let his voice trail off.

"…that probably means he's our guy," she finished for him. She closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands against them. She needed more coffee. "But last time I checked you needed a warrant to search someone's residence."

He just gave her a look.

She shrugged. "Well, you do get a little carried away sometimes."

He sighed. "Fair enough. But NCIS can handle that part. Let's focus on interviewing them, see if we can narrow it down further."

"If he's even on the list. Who knows? We could be looking in the wrong direction." Personally, she didn't think so, but someone had to play devil's advocate.

He ran his hand through his hair. "True, but it's the only thing we have right now. Mac?"

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Images of her dream had just flashed up in her mind. She didn't know what had triggered it—perhaps the way the muscles in his forearm had flexed just now. She quickly averted her gaze, blinking at the black screen of her computer. _No_. It seemed that she wasn't safe anymore even in reality, even when she was wide awake. She hoped it was just the lack of sleep that was messing with her head; she couldn't let him take over her thoughts like that.

_When this is over, I'm going to have to make a decision_, she thought miserably. With the dream safely tucked away in the depths of her mind, she had almost managed to convince herself that there was a way to move on without having to leave DC and her life there behind. But only almost and now her already fragile control was slipping.

"Mac?" he asked again, worried now.

"You're right," she said curtly, hoping it was an appropriate answer to whatever question he'd asked her; she couldn't remember. "We should get started."

The sooner they were finished here, the sooner they could go home. Maybe even today.

And she had to get away from Harm.

But if that was so, then why did the thought of sleeping in her own bed tonight, with Mic's arms around her, fill her with apprehension?

**A/N: Did you like the dream sequence? **


	12. 11 I can barely say

**A/N: I may have to go into hiding for this chapter ;) It was inspired by "I Can Barely Say" by The Fray.**

**Enjoy!**

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**bloodymary2: I completely agree with you! I think the reason Mac stayed with Mic is that deep down she's very insecure and struggling with her life, and that she's very, very scared of being alone. So scared, in fact, that she'd rather settle with someone she doesn't really love—or not as much as she should have—just to have someone in her life. I get that knowing that Harm has/had feelings for her wasn't enough for her, but she could have handled the situation differently. Then again, so could he… As for Webb (and I cringed every time I saw them on screen together), sometimes I think that she was only with him to prove a point to Harm. And it worked… in a way—their relationship was very strained during seasons 9 and 10.**

**She is going to have that moment of epiphany eventually—but it'll be a while!**

**anonymous guest: Don't worry, there's going to be a real hook-up eventually. But for now dreams is all you get ;)**

**achaon: Thank you! **

**rlrct: Mac's subconscious seems hell-bent on making her see that marrying Mic is the wrong decision. I almost feel sorry for her :D**

**alix33: Poor Mac indeed. But it's kind of her own fault. No one is forcing her to marry Mic…**

**Ciara: No premonitions this time, just a very erotic dream. Not that it didn't do a perfectly good job of disturbing Mac. ;)**

**Thank you all so much for reviewing! It amazes me that even almost 10 years after the show was cancelled, the fandom is still so active :)**

**A special thank you to AvaniHeath for her beta skills and general wonderfulness.**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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11 I can barely say

By noon their list was down to sixteen names. Four of the men they had interviewed had been able to give alibis, thanks to spouses that could attest that they'd been home the previous night or, in one case, the security footage of a night club—though NCIS still needed to verify that. One had stated that he'd been home alone, asleep, and thus had no alibi, but Harm doubted that he was their guy. The petty officer in question had seemed genuinely shocked at being accused of kidnapping and murder; when Harm asked him where he'd been the night before and whether he'd known Lieutenant Acker, the poor man hadn't been able to produce more than an incoherent stutter for five minutes straight, his face going from red to white and his hands trembling violently. The only reason they didn't cross his name of the list just yet was because they didn't want to take any chances.

While Mac had been her usual self during the interviews—perhaps a little less patient, but Harm doubted that any of the potential suspects they'd interviewed had noticed that; if he didn't know her so well, he wouldn't have either—she ignored him at lunch. This time he didn't think she was doing it on purpose. Her eyes were on her plate as she picked at her food with an uncharacteristic lack of appetite, but Harm could tell that her thoughts were elsewhere.

He couldn't quench the worry that had been growing steadily ever since she walked into the office this morning. Her face was pale, the circles under her eyes so dark they looked like bruises. Had she slept at all last night? Or had her guilt kept her awake? He wanted to ask what was wrong, wanted to offer her comfort, but he didn't know how to go about either of these things. She'd made it clear—and abundantly so—that the subject of their kiss and all that it entailed was off-limits and he had a feeling that if he brought it up again in spite of that, they might get into a fight, and he didn't want to fight with her. He didn't want to make her feel worse.

He bit into his sandwich, chewing absently as he recalled his conversation with the Renée the night before. She had been in a forgiving mood; she'd called to make up just when he was about to go to bed. He had made an effort to listen patiently while she described her day in excruciating detail, knowing he owed her at least that. He felt that he should have been the one apologising, and the list of things to apologise for was endless; for brushing her off when she insisted he had feelings for Mac; for not spending as much time with her as she deserved; for pretending their relationship was going somewhere when he knew that wasn't the case.

Afterwards he'd lain awake for hours, his mind spinning madly. Mac. Renée. Mac. Renée. Mac again. She was a constant presence in his thoughts now, always there, always within reach even when he wasn't thinking about her consciously. As he had drifted off to sleep, she had followed him into his dreams as well, and the image was with him even now, although he rarely remembered what he had dreamt so long after waking—Mac in his arms, her head resting on his chest. It was an innocent dream and it had been more about comfort than anything else, yet he couldn't shake the vague sense of guilt that had settled over him.

He shouldn't be dreaming about her.

_But you want to, don't you?_ the voice in his mind said, not so much a question as an observation.

Yes. Yes, he wanted to. He shouldn't, but he did. He couldn't have her in reality; his dreams were the only thing he had left, were the only way to be with her. Part of him knew that it would only make things harder in the end, and more painful, but he couldn't help himself.

Before he had slipped into sleep, the lines of a poem had come to him. He couldn't remember its name or where he had read it, but the words had stuck with him. _Water, water, every where, / And all the boards did shrink; / Water, water, every where, / Nor any drop to drink. _It hadn't made much sense to him before and he'd never consciously thought about it before then, but now he thought he understood. Every day he was surrounded by what he wanted most in this world, by what he craved, and yet he was denied it. Close enough to grasp and still out of reach.

Her quiet sigh drew him back into the present and he searched her face for clues that might help him figure out what was going on inside her head. Sensing he was watching her, she looked up from her plate, her brown eyes, which were dull with exhaustion, meeting his. This time she held his gaze, the expression on her face unfathomable. Resignation? Her hand lay on the table and he wanted to reach out and take it into his own. She seemed to guess as much; she quickly dropped it into her lap.

They stopped by the office after lunch. Mac stayed outside, murmuring something about having to make a call. Hand on the door, he paused for a moment, gazing at her. She stood facing the wind, one arm around her waist for warmth, or maybe comfort. Harm went inside before she noticed he was watching her; it seemed to make her uneasy. Once or twice over the course of the morning she had caught him staring, blushing when she did, embarrassed for reasons unknown to him.

He didn't know what to do with her and it was starting to drive him insane. He couldn't bear seeing her suffer, yet nothing he could say or do would make it any better. If anything, his presence seemed to make it worse.

_I shouldn't have let her kiss me._

But would that have changed anything? She still would have had to live with the knowledge that she'd wanted to kiss him, regardless of what had actually happened.

He sank into his chair, leaning back, his arms folded in front of his chest. They had to wrap up this investigation soon so that they could go home and he could give her the space she needed. But at the same time he was reluctant to; the days that he had left with her were already numbered and he wanted to make the most of what little time they had left. He knew it was selfish. He shouldn't be thinking about what he wanted; he should be thinking about what was best for her. And being with him wasn't. Not anymore.

Maybe it never had.

He called Chegwidden to give him an update, then checked with base security to see if they had news for him, which they didn't. Rain started pelting against the window, softly at first, then so hard that Harm could barely hear himself think. The weather usually had little influence on his mood, but his current frame of mind was such that he felt a surge of anger when he heard thunder rumble quietly in the distance. "Damn it!" he ground out, slamming his fist on the desk so hard the pencil cup was knocked over, pens and pencils clattering pell-mell to the floor.

"Harm?"

Mac was standing in the open door, staring at him, her hair damp from the rain. He saw confusion in her eyes but was in no mood to explain. How could he when she was part of the reason he was feeling this way? So he just gave an angry shake of his head and crawled under his desk, starting to clean up the mess he had made.

Mac dropped to her knees, reaching for the nearest pen. He caught her wrist before her fingers could close around it. "Don't," he said without looking at her. But he couldn't bring himself to release her and when she didn't try to pull back, he did look up.

Her eyes were wide and her lips slightly parted, her cheeks tinged with red. Suddenly he was acutely aware of how close she was. He could smell her perfume and the flowery scent of her shampoo, somehow intensified by the heavy fragrance of rain that clung to her. So easy, he thought, so tempting.

_Leaning forward, closing the distance between them, capturing her mouth with his. Feeling the smooth, soft texture of her full lips. Tasting her._

She snapped out of it first, yanking her hand back. "Let me go," she whispered and he did, shocked at where his thoughts had taken him.

"Mac," he whispered, not knowing what to say. He was grateful she couldn't read his mind, couldn't see what he had just imagined, but something in her eyes made him think that she knew exactly what he'd been thinking.

Then again, perhaps she was merely recalling her own thoughts.

She rose, shaking her head, and stepped to the window, her back to him so that he couldn't see her face, but the way she held herself, her shoulders rigid, her hands curled into tight fists, betrayed her tension.

"I'm sorry," Harm said quietly.

"Am I leading you on?" she asked harshly and he startled, even though he didn't know if it was because of her tone or the bluntness of her question. "Because if I am, then please tell me what it is I'm doing so that I can stop." Thunder rolled across the sky, emphasising her words.

Slowly, Harm got up and shut the door; they didn't need witnesses for this conversation.

It wasn't her—it was him. She might have kissed him, but he couldn't deny that he was attracted to her. It had never presented a problem before, but now it seemed that he was losing control. It was as if by kissing her the part of him that had suppressed his love for her for so long had been irrevocably altered; no matter how hard, how desperately, he tried or wanted to, he could not lock his emotions up again, bury them where they had lain buried all these years.

It was in this instant that he realised that this was the first time he had ever put a name to his feelings for her. That's what he'd always called it—'feelings', and no more. But it was love and he couldn't deny it anymore. It was ironic as well as tragic that he should realise that only when she was on the verge of getting married.

"You're not doing anything," he said and somehow managed to keep the bitterness in his heart from showing in his voice. "It's me, not you."

She turned then, no longer hiding her emotions. She seemed conflicted; she briefly closed her eyes, her lips tightening, and when she opened them again, they were dark with despair. But there was something else too. Determination. A decision had been reached, and Harm knew, just from the look in her eyes and the way her shoulders sagged a little, all tension suddenly gone and replaced by weariness, that that decision had cost her dearly.

Dread clawed at his mind.

"It would be so easy to blame you," she said. Her voice was calm, but it sounded forced and hollow. "But the truth is that it's me just as much as you." Leaning against her desk, she folded her arms in front of her chest once more, but this time it seemed to Harm as if she was trying to hold herself together, to keep herself from breaking apart. "I kissed you."

"I kissed you back," he said softly. He knew it wouldn't matter to her; her mind was made up. But, afraid of what she had decided, he had to try. Had to take at least part of her guilt so that she wouldn't have to shoulder it all by herself and feel responsible. He _had_ kissed her back, hadn't stopped her when he could have. Had held her close when she started pulling away. Had turned an innocent kiss into something more.

He had been selfish.

And now she had to pay for his selfishness.

A sad, bitter smile curved her lips as she shook her head softly. "I still kissed you first."

"Mac." Frustration born out of helplessness crept into his voice. "It was just a kiss." It was a lie and he knew it even as the words fell from his lips. But he also knew that if he didn't manage to convince her that it hadn't meant anything, things would never be the same again between them, that he might even lose her, and he couldn't. Crushing fear closed around his chest at the thought.

_What I want most is to never lose you._

But he could tell it wasn't going to work. "Do you honestly believe that?" The same sad look as before. "Look me in the eye and tell me that it was just a kiss for you."

He could only look at her, the words on the tip of his tongue. _It was just a kiss. It didn't mean anything to me. _But he couldn't bring himself to say them, couldn't lie. He was done with it. They had danced around the issue for so long, but now the music had stopped and their elaborate steps faltered in the sudden silence.

The truth could not be buried again.

"That's what I thought," Mac whispered. "And what if next time it won't be just a kiss?"

He stared at her. For a moment, he didn't understand what she was saying. When he did, he was unable to hide his surprise. "Mac, you're not that kind of person!" She would never do something like that, would never hurt someone she cared about that way. And she did care about Mic.

"Aren't I?" she demanded, her voice rising in agitation. "I already dream…" She snapped her mouth shut, horror crossing her face; she spun around, gripping the edge of the desk, and he couldn't see her face anymore. Rain battered against the windows in a grey veil that obscured the outside world. He could barely make out her words when she spoke. "I can't trust myself around you."

"They're just dreams."

Just dreams.

Like the kiss was just a kiss.

How many times had he told himself that they didn't mean anything?

He couldn't remember.

"You know that's not true."

"Yes," he whispered. "I know."

"I can't move on as long as you're in my life."

She had said the dreaded words. _You won't lose me_, she had promised him, but he suddenly realised that it was a promise she wouldn't be able to keep, no matter how much she might want to.

"I don't want to lose you, Mac." A desperate plea. But she had made her choice; he saw that now. She had decided to leave him. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he had no right to think about it this way. She couldn't leave _him_. She'd never been his to begin with. But he couldn't imagine his life without her in it. Couldn't imagine going to work and not meet her in the elevator, or see her sitting at her desk. Couldn't imagine not arguing with her in court.

Couldn't imagine never seeing her again.

"Do you think that's what I want?" she asked. The despair in her voice matched his. She didn't want this. But she had no choice. "But it can't stay the way it's now. This isn't good for either of us. And I'm getting married in less than two weeks."

_Then don't_, he wanted to say. But what did he have to offer her? The things that had held him back when she first brought it up over a year ago still did. He hadn't moved on, was still clinging to his lifeline, still holding on to his past. But if he wanted to be with her, he'd have to relinquish control and let go of a part of him he didn't know who he was without. And he was terrified of that, more terrified perhaps than he was by the thought of losing her because it might mean losing himself.

"So what now?" He already knew the answer, but part of him desperately hoped that he was wrong. That there was another way.

She didn't look at him when she answered. "I can't stay in DC."

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**So? Please review!**


	13. 12 The ocean

**A/N: Thank you for waiting patiently! With Christmas and New Year's Eve and a lot of other things going on, time just flew by and I have no idea where it went. I'll post the next chapter the day after tomorrow.**

**This chapter was inspired by the song "The ocean" by The Bravery.**

**Enjoy!**

**Thank you for all those lovely reviews! **

**A very special thank you to my amazing beta and friend AvaniHeath for her thoughts and support!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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**12 The ocean**

_I don't want to lose you, Mac._

Mac watched as the rain fell, tears burning behind her eyes. She was numb with shock; the enormity of her decision hadn't yet caught up with her. How could it have come to this so quickly? This morning, the idea of leaving DC had been just that—an idea born out of exhaustion and despair. Now she had made it reality and yet it felt so surreal that part of her kept insisting that it was just a dream and no more real than the dream she'd had last night.

But she knew that it wasn't.

She didn't want to lose him either. She didn't, but what choice did she have? She couldn't continue to be around him because it was obvious that they couldn't go back to the way things were before the kiss. It had changed something between them; barriers that had been there before, barriers she had built to protect herself, were suddenly gone, torn away by the conflicting emotions raging in her heart, and she knew that he felt the same way.

The way he had looked at her just then…

She curled her fingers around her wrist as she remembered the tingling sensation that had shot up her arm when he touched her. It had sent her mind spinning and her heart racing. And the look in his eyes. She could tell he'd been tempted. As had she. She didn't know what she'd have done if he had kissed her. She wanted to believe that she'd have pulled away, that she wouldn't have kissed him back, but she wasn't sure. She couldn't be sure about anything anymore and that scared her.

_Mac, you're not that kind of person_, he'd said, surprised by her implication, shocked even. Almost as shocked as she had been when she realised that she couldn't rule out taking things farther than just a kiss one day. The rules she had set for herself, the rules that she led her life by, didn't seem to apply when it came to him. With him, all bets were off. With him, a kiss wasn't just as a kiss.

And a dream wasn't just a dream.

Their friendship had evolved into something deeper and stronger and now that they had acknowledged the truth, they couldn't hide from it anymore. It refused to be ignored, refused to be buried again.

_When did it start?_ she wondered as she touched the cool glass, tracing the trail of a raindrop. When had she realised that she was in love with him? Long before she'd brought it up on the ferry in Australia. But she'd waited. Patiently and sometimes not so patiently, but she'd waited, knowing that he wasn't ready yet for the kind of relationship she wanted. But eventually she'd had to accept the truth that he might never be ready, and she couldn't wait forever.

_But I've never stopped, have I?_

No. No she hadn't stopped waiting. _I'm getting married in less than two weeks_, she had told him and part of her had desperately hoped that he's say it. _Then don't. Be with me_. But he hadn't and she knew that if she didn't end this now, if she didn't leave now while she still could, she'd be stuck in this cycle of misery forever. She didn't want to leave, but she had no choice. It was better this way. It _had_ to be this way. She owed it to Mic that she did everything in her power to put Harm out of her mind once and for all, and putting as much distance between them as she possibly could was the only thing she hadn't tried.

And this was why it had to be this way.

But she'd never meant to hurt Harm.

Perhaps that had been naive of her, for how could she not hurt him? _I don't want to lose you, Mac_. So desperate, so scared. She'd promised him he wouldn't lose her, but it wasn't a promise she would be able to keep, and she wished she had seen it sooner. She should never have given that promise. But perhaps it wouldn't have mattered either way. This wasn't about a broken promise. Harm knew that, just as he knew that she had no choice because if he didn't, then he would have tried to make her change her mind. But he hadn't.

Still, knowing that it was better this way didn't make it any less painful, not for her, not for him. Her own pain, she could handle. She felt that she deserved it; if she'd managed to move on like she should have, then she wouldn't be hurting right now. But she couldn't bear to see him suffer and the look on his face when he left had torn at her heart.

She'd almost stopped him. And if he'd looked back one more time, if she'd seen the pain in his eyes one more time, she might have. But he hadn't. Mac was grateful that she didn't know where he had gone because if she had, she would have followed him, would have tried to comfort him. Would have tried to make his pain go away. But how could she when she was the cause of his pain?

And so she'd stayed here.

_I don't want to lose you, Mac_.

The tears spilled over then, silently streaming down her cheeks. She wanted him to come back, wanted to take back what she had said, wanted to go back to the way things were before, but she couldn't. There were things that couldn't be unsaid, couldn't be undone. Shouldn't be undone.

_I love him_, she thought miserably. Guilt washed through her, clawing cruelly at her wounded heart, and made her throat constrict until she couldn't breathe anymore, until the weight of it became so heavy that she thought it would crush her.

She had called Mic after lunch, telling herself that it was because she missed him and wanted to hear his voice, but truth was that she'd simply tried to placate her guilty conscience. She knew that you could love more than one person and she did love Mic, but what she felt for him didn't compare to her feelings for Harm. She couldn't deny that any longer.

She twisted her engagement ring. She'd cherished it when Mic had first given it to her. But ever since she'd switched it to her other hand, she looked at it and felt a vague sense of dread. She'd thought it was because she was afraid of giving up her independence. Now she wasn't so sure anymore that this was the reason. She slipped it off and placed it in the centre of her palm. It sat there, small and beautiful, sparkling dully in the grey light. She didn't want to feel this way about it. She wanted to look at it and be happy.

Twelve days, one hour, nine minutes.

She curled her hand around the ring, the hard edges of the diamond cutting into her skin.

Her mind was made up.

Life had to go on.

And so did she.

oOo

_I didn't think it would hurt this much_.

Down at the waterfront, the wind was even colder. It blew ceaselessly, the stretch of grey water visible behind the ships billowing under its force, swelling and falling in a never-ending rhythm. People hurried back and forth, bracing themselves against the gusts of wind that threatened to knock them off their feet.

Harm watched them move past from inside one of the warehouses. He was drenched to the bone, water trickling slowly down his neck. He hadn't thought of the rain, hadn't thought of where to go when he had left the office—and Mac—what felt like hours ago. All that he'd been able to think of was to get away from her, suddenly no longer able to even look at her. He'd meant to say he understood—because he did, on a purely intellectual level at least—but the words had stuck in his throat and so he had just walked away, going everywhere and nowhere as the rain pounded down on him. Eventually he'd ended up here because it was the farthest he could get away from Mac without leaving the base. And because two of their suspects worked down here and he was in desperate need of a distraction to stop Mac's voice from echoing through his thoughts. _I can't stay in the DC_, she had said, but to him it had sounded like, _I can't stay with you_.

Why did it hurt so much?

He had known for months that this moment would come, ever since they had set a date. But even while he'd considered the possibility, he had never really expected her to disappear from his life. Part of him had refused to believe that it would ever be any other way than it was now, that she would always be there, that he would never lose her.

How naive he'd been!

He was going to lose her. Not just to another man, but to a life where there would be no place for him. Where there could be no place for him. His memories of her would be the only thing left to him, that and the bitter, painful truth that he would never feel about anyone else the way that he felt about Mac. Because even with her gone, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to let go of her any more than he could of his lifeline.

Lightning flashed across the sky, thunder following instantly. _Funny_, Harm thought humourlessly, _how nature sometimes has a way of mirroring exactly what you're feeling and not giving a damn most of the rest of the time._

He couldn't recall when it had started, when she had stopped being just his friend and partner, when she had become something more. Although it hadn't been love at first sight, he couldn't remember not being in love with her. One day he'd simply looked at her and realised, shocked and somewhat apprehensive, that his feelings for her had changed. But the change itself had been so slow, so gradual that he'd never even noticed that he was falling for her.

He had never hesitated to go after what he wanted, least of all when it came to women. But Mac was different. With her, he wanted more, not just the casual relationships he usually had, the ones that never led anywhere because he couldn't fully commit, the ones he was in because of the sex or the company, or a combination of both. He'd thought he knew what being in love felt like, but, oh, how wrong he'd been! He had no words to describe the way he felt about Mac, to describe this strange, intense connection they shared. Looking at her, seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, he often marvelled at his feelings for her because he'd never thought that it was possible to feel this strongly about someone.

But sometimes he looked at her and was terrified because these kinds of feelings—this kind of love—had the potential for great pain and suffering, for loss, and he had already lost one person so very dear to him. And so he'd told her that he wasn't ready, afraid he wouldn't emotionally survive opening up to her the way he would have to in a relationship and then see it all go to pieces. And eventually it would because it always did, because if there was one thing he'd learned in life, it was that nothing ever lasted forever. That everyone left you. That there were no guarantees, no safety nets in life. No lifelines.

It hit him then like a punch in the gut that what he was clinging to so hard was merely the illusion of security, made up of past memories he treasured, made up of everything that he could trust. It made him feel safe and in control, but all it did was keeping him from moving forward. He'd shied away from a relationship with Mac because he didn't want to lose her, but the irony of it was that by doing that he'd ended up pushing her away.

Anger twisted in his chest like a vicious snake, and he clenched his hands, fighting the urge to slam his fist into the wall beside him. A coward, that's what he was. He'd passed up his chance at being with the woman he loved because he was terrified of change. He knew that life changed constantly, that nothing ever stayed the same, and yet he refused to change with it. And now his insistence on holding on to things long past would mean that he'd get left behind, alone and heartbroken and burdened by the knowledge that it wouldn't have had to be this way.

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**A/N: Please review! You know how much I love hearing your thoughts!**


	14. 13 A matter of time

**A/N: Next chapter! It's a short one, so I'm updating again tomorrow!**

**This chapter was inspired by "A Matter of Time" by The Killers.**

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**alix33: I don't want her to put that ring back on either. Who knows, maybe she won't. ;)**

**bookimpva: So do I! Let's hope Mac will realise that marrying Mic would be a monumental mistake!**

**bloodymary2: He had better! These two are so dense at times.**

**Thank you all for your lovely reviews!**

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**A very special thank you for my amazing beta AvaniHeath!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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**13 A matter of time**

He cursed under his breath as a gust of wind blew rain straight into his face, drenching him to the skin once more. The pier was lit, yet the darkness was so absolute that all he could see were blurry dots of yellow. He couldn't make out his own hand in front of his eyes, let alone see more than two feet ahead. He thought it was ironic; he always kept them in darkness, had become its master. Now he was a victim, just like them.

The predator straining against his skin didn't like it; it felt vulnerable, exposed. The cold and calculating part of him, however, was almost grateful for this humbling experience. Overconfidence made you careless, and carelessness was something he couldn't afford. If he made even one mistake, someone might discover his secret, and if that happened, he would never be able to kill again.

A chill ran down his spine at the thought and it had absolutely nothing to do with the icy wind. He wouldn't survive prison; if it ever came to it, he'd rather die than allow himself to be taken. The predator would never be satisfied, would always demand more, and if it didn't get what it wanted, it would claw at his mind until it was reduced to tatters, his sanity torn apart.

He braced himself against the wind, barely seeing where he was going. His shift had ended hours ago, but thanks to the weather they were so far behind schedule that every hand was needed. Under normal circumstances that wouldn't have been a problem. This might not have been the job that he had had in mind when he joined the Navy, but he always applied himself a hundred and ten per cent to whatever he was tasked with.

However, tonight he had a schedule of his own, and while he wasn't exactly running behind, his window of opportunity was narrow—if he missed it, if he didn't take her tonight, he might not get another chance. Eventually, she'd leave, and then she'd be lost to him.

Determination surged through him, and he quickened his steps despite the slippery ground. He couldn't let her slip out of his grasp.

If he did, the predator would make him pay.

He almost regretted having picked such a remote location to hide his victims. Almost. Its isolation was what made it safe. If it were ever to be discovered, nobody would be able to trace it back to him. And nobody would ever be looking there for him. That he only had limited time with his victims each night was a small price to pay.

Besides, he could keep them for as long as he wanted.

Normally, he wouldn't rush things. Would take his time stalking his victims, sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks until he knew their routine. But this time he couldn't. He shuddered as he remembered the one time he'd resisted the predator, had fought the pull. In the end, it had overpowered him, and the body of the woman he'd chosen still lay buried where it would never be discovered.

She had been too badly damaged to bring home.

This wouldn't happen with her. She was too beautiful, too perfect. Last night, he'd imagined all the things he'd do to her. Had imagined how he would run his hands over her soft skin. How she would cry out when he cut her, when he claimed her body with his own. How the light in her brown eyes would fade when he closed his hands around her throat.

He slipped. Cursing aloud, he managed to regain his balance before he fell. "You okay?" one of his colleagues asked, lending a steadying arm.

"Yeah, I'm good, thanks." Water sloshed in his shoes and he wriggled his toes to chase the disgusting sensation away. He must have stepped into a particularly deep puddle. _Focus_, he told himself sternly. If he got injured, all the time he'd spent planning would have been for nothing, and she'd get away.

And he couldn't let that happen, now could he?


	15. 14 Born to die

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I completely forgot. Shame on me. Can't say when the next chapter will be on as I'd like to have another one or two finished before I update.**

**This chapter was inspired by Lana Del Rey's "Born to Die".**

**Enjoy!**

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**rlrct: This chapter should answer your question! ;)**

**lszejny: Our Marine is still distracted. And tired. Which is not good.**

**alix33: "EW!" indeed.**

**Thank you all for your lovely reviews!**

**A special thank you to my beta and friend AvaniHeath. :)**

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**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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**14 Born to die**

Relief washed through Mac as she closed the door behind her. Finally she was alone. Finally she wouldn't have to hide anymore what she was feeling. Wouldn't have to pretend that everything was fine when her world had just come crashing down around her with everything turned upside down. She felt empty, drained, but she was also angry. At Harm because he'd pushed her away, but mostly at herself because she felt like she'd given up. Because she didn't want to be feeling this way. Because she wasn't supposed to be feeling this way.

All day she had fought the tears; now that she was alone once more she let them stream down her face as she sank down against the door, pulling her legs up against her chest. She couldn't remember ever feeling this desperate, this lost. This heartbroken. There had been other men in her life, other relationships, and of course she'd been sad when they had ended, but never like this.

Perhaps it was because she and Harm had been friends before they became something more. All the other men she'd been with had made it clear from the beginning that they wanted a romantic relationship and wouldn't settle for anything less. But things had been different with Harm, and instead of a lover he'd become her best friend, the one person in the world who knew her better than she knew herself, who'd seen her at her best and at her worst.

And that was it, really. This was why it hurt so much. Because she wouldn't just lose the man she was in love with. She'd lose her best friend too, would lose the one person who'd been a constant in her life for nearly four years.

She hadn't spoken to him, or seen him, since this afternoon. She'd stayed at the office, first going through the personnel files of everyone on their suspect list, then over the ME's report. But even the gruesome images of Florence Acker's broken body hadn't been able to distract her.

She couldn't forget the look on Harm's face.

Mac brushed her thumb over her empty finger. The ring was in her purse, tucked securely into a handkerchief. She refused to think about the reason why she hadn't put it back on, why the thought of slipping it back on her finger made her insides clench. Not tonight. She couldn't deal with that tonight.

Her phone started ringing, the sound loud in the darkness that enveloped her. Reaching beside her, she took it out of her purse, staring at the lit screen. Mic. Her finger hovered over the acceptance button. She was afraid to answer; she couldn't go back to pretending that everything was fine when it wasn't, but neither could she explain to him what was wrong. Not without hurting him, and he didn't deserve that. He knew that she and Harm were close, but she wondered if he had any idea how deep they ran. Would he still be with her if he did? Would he still want to marry her, even knowing that he wasn't her first choice? That she'd only gone to him because Harm had pushed her away?

The phone went dark, the ring tone cutting off mid-sound. Relieved, she dropped it back in her purse and dragged herself up. It was nearly half past ten and she was exhausted, but she dreaded going to sleep. What if she dreamed about him again? She didn't think could handle this kind of intimacy even in a dream, not when part of her wished for it to be reality, even now, even after today.

_Will it be enough?_ she wondered as she slowly made her way into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She couldn't stay in DC because she was afraid of what might happen between her and Harm, of what she might do, but would it help her move on? Help her put him out of her mind? Out of sight, out of mind hadn't worked for her before. Even during the time he'd been away from JAG to pursue his dream of flying he'd always been in her thoughts, even though they had barely communicated, even though she'd known she'd probably never see him again. What if it wouldn't work this time either? What if she was just kidding herself?

A quiet knock sounded on the door.

Mac startled, nearly dropping the glass. Putting it down, she headed for the door, switching on the light in the hallway. She didn't want her visitor, whoever it was, to wonder why she was sitting in the dark. Hesitantly, she turned the knob, half-expecting it to be Harm—who else would come by this late?—and dread knotted her stomach; she didn't know how to face him. How could she even look him in the eye after what she had done to him? After how much she had hurt him?

But it wasn't him. The tall lieutenant standing in front of her door, dripping water on the floor, looked vaguely familiar though, which probably meant that she'd spoken to him yesterday. But she'd interviewed so many people over the course of two days that her tired brain refused to put names to faces.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I hope so, Ma'am," he replied. He took a step forward, moving into the light, and Mac got a better look at him. Broad shoulders, green eyes, short-cropped blond curls. Seeing his face, she remembered him. He lived in this neighbourhood, perhaps three or four houses down; this was why she had spoken to him the day before, to find out if he'd see anything. But his name remained elusive.

"I know it's late," he continued apologetically, "and I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was just on my way home from work and I remembered something about the night Lieutenant Acker was killed. I tried reaching this NCIS agent on his cell phone, but he didn't pick up and I didn't want to wait until tomorrow."

Mac deliberated for a moment. Exhausted as she was, she wanted to put off going to bed as long as she could, so she might as well get some work done. Besides, if he did know something useful, something that might even help them solve this case, she'd be home by tomorrow night.

_Is that what you want?_ the voice in her mind asked, doubtful.

She ignored it. "I'll be with you in a minute," she told the lieutenant and closed the door, starting towards the bedroom to get her coat.

The blow caught her completely by surprise.

Mac stumbled forward, slamming into the wall. Pain exploded in her left shoulder, but it had barely time to register. Something struck the back of her knees and her legs gave way. She hit the floor with a muffled cry, her right arm twisted awkwardly underneath her. Panic swept across her mind. She started scrambling to her feet, clutching at the wall for support. A hand gripped her wrist, then her arm was yanked back brutally. White stars danced in front of her eyes as a fresh wave of pain shot through her shoulder. She tried to wrench her arm free. For one terrifying moment her vision went black and she struggled to stay conscious, no longer fighting his hold on her. He drew her hard against him, clamping his calloused hand over her mouth. His skin smelled like motor oil and something metallic, and the sharp scent grounded her firmly in reality.

"Quiet now, Colonel," he murmured, brushing his lips across the back of her neck. The sensation made her skin crawl and her stomach turn. Her heart was hammering madly against her ribs, each beat sending a fresh surge of panic through her body. _It's him. It's him. It's him._ There was no room in her mind for any other thought. _It's him. It's him. It's him._

She struggled frantically in his iron grip, ignoring the pain raging in her shoulder. If he took her off-base, if he took her wherever he'd taken Florence… No. She couldn't let that happen. She _wouldn't _let that happen!

Mac dug her heel into his instep.

He grunted and his hold on her arm loosened; she tore it free and slammed her elbow into his stomach as hard as she could. Groaning, he released her. Mac spun around and rushed past him, heading for the door. She had to get out. She had to get out and get help or…

The key was gone.

She twisted the knob anyway, wasting valuable seconds. She sensed rather than heard him come up behind her and turned around just in time to see him swing his fist at her. She ducked under his arm, not even trying to counter the blow. His movements were swift, efficient, precise. He clearly knew what he was doing and Mac harboured no illusions that she'd stand a chance in a fight. Her area of expertise were small arms, not martial arts.

She dashed across the short hallway and back into dark the kitchen. Leaning across the countertop, she started shoving up the window. He grabbed her around the waist, wrenching her back. Her chin connected with the edge of the counter hard enough to jar her teeth. Pain shot through her jaw, causing stars to spark in front of her eyes like tiny fireworks. She tasted blood in her mouth, hot and metallic; she'd split her lip. The pain was fierce, blinding, but she forced herself to think through it.

Self-preservation finally overpowered panic and her head cleared.

She kicked at him, aiming at nothing in particular. But she hit home. He howled in pain and his arms fell away. Mac grabbed the edge of the counter, pulling herself up. She barely noticed as her knee banged against the cabinet. The glass clattered to the floor, shattering on the tiles. Tiny shards exploded every which way. A low, angry curse; he must have cut himself.

Mac yanked the window open. Rain slammed into her face, so cold and hard that it felt like a million tiny needles piercing her skin. She greedily inhaled the icy air, twisting on the counter to slip out feet-first just as he made a grab for her again. His arm wound around her middle, his hand closed around her throat and began to squeeze. She gasped for air, clawing madly at his grip. It was futile. He lifted her off the counter, cradling her gently against his chest as he choked her. Dark spots appeared before her eyes. He was talking to her, his voice calm and soothing. She struggled to make out his words, but they didn't make sense to her oxygen-deprived brain.

His hand slipping under her blouse, sliding across her skin and curving around her waist, was the last thing she felt before she fell into darkness.

**Thoughts?**


	16. 15 Rise

**A/N: I know the last update was ages ago, and I owe you an apology for that. Things have been very tough for me lately, and I haven't been in the right frame of mind for working on this project. Also, I started work three weeks ago and it's been very stressful and eating up a lot of my free time.**

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**I received so many amazing reviews for the last chapter.**

**alix33: I definitely don't want her to put that ring back on either!**

**lszejny & achaon: That's a very good question! Here's the answer.**

**kkcordero25: Hope this chapter won't disappoint!**

**doc coffee: Sorry for keeping you on the edge of your seat for so long! **

**lisa: I really don't mean to end virtually every chapter with a cliffhanger! It just happens.**

**Ryan: You're welcome!**

**Sunset: Thank you so much for your lovely review! I will definitely consider posting my stories at the site you mentioned.**

**xgp15a1: Yes, I know. I'm sorry!**

**DivaLola: Wow! That's amazing! I am so glad you're enjoying this!**

**Saturnina Black: Thank you so much. Your review really made my day when I had it in my inbox the other morning.**

**You're all amazing. Thank you so much for your support. Now, this chapter may not be what you've all been hoping for, so I hope you won't be too disappointed. Or decide to come after me with pitchforks.**

**Thank you all for reading!**

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**A very special thank you to my friend and beta AvaniHeath!**

**This chapter was inspired by "Rise" by The Frames.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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**15 Rise**

The phone was ringing for the second time in five minutes.

_Persistent_, Harm thought, with a tinge of annoyance that he regretted almost instantly. Renée wanted to talk to him before she went to bed—he could hardly blame her for that, now could he?

_Some boyfriend I am._

He scooped up the phone from the table beside the bed.

"Hi," he said as he sat down, kicking off his shoes. He kept his voice light, but it sounded forced even to him. He felt defeated; he could barely remember how he'd made it through the rest of the day.

"Are you okay?" Renée asked by way of greeting. "You sound weird."

_Am I okay?_ he thought bitterly. How could he possibly be okay when he felt like his heart had been wrenched out of his chest, leaving a gaping hole that ached and throbbed with every breath?

"Yeah, I'm fine," he heard himself say. "Just been a tough day."

"The investigation not going well?" she asked softly.

He sighed. "Among other things."

To be honest, Harm doubted that they'd find the killer before they had to return to DC. Most of the people on his list had alibied out and none of the men he'd interviewed had struck him as a cold-blooded killer with sociopathic tendencies. Of course that didn't mean anything; he'd never have been able to stay out of jail this long if he didn't know how to blend in.

But still.

Harm had passed on the names of those he hadn't been able to rule out on to NCIS and now there was nothing more he could do. Base security had come up empty as well; the master chief responsible for locating the security problem was beginning to think that there wasn't one and that they were completely over-thinking things. After all, the killer could have gotten Acker off the base simply by hiding her in the trunk of his car. Since finding a judge who'd sign off on a warrant to search every single car on base was rather unlikely, they were back to square one.

And judging by Rhys's mood when Harm had called him, so was his team.

"And would these other things have anything to do with Mac?" Renée asked, almost casually.

Lowering his arm, Harm stared at the phone, incredulous.

_She didn't just ask me that, did she?_

Surely he'd heard her wrong. He was not going to have this discussion with her. Not tonight. Not ever.

Putting the phone back to his ear, he said, "Why do you always automatically assume that everything is about Mac?" The words came out harsher than he had intended, but he didn't particularly care. "She's getting married, for crying out loud. There's nothing going on between us!"

"Isn't there?" she demanded.

"Renée…" he began, but she cut him off.

"No," she said sharply. "I'm neither blind nor stupid, Harm. I can see that there is _something_, whatever it is. I can…"

He bit back a harsh answer and dropped the phone in his lap; he could still hear her voice, but it was too muffled for him to make out the words. It wasn't like she was wrong. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he'd asked her to let it go, had asked her repeatedly, and still she refused, and he was tired of it. Tired of having this conversation over and over again. Tired of her to trying to make him into something he wasn't. Something that he could never be.

And that was what bothered him, really. Not that she kept bringing up Mac—that he could understand, even if he didn't like it. But that she didn't seem to take the things that were important to him seriously. That she didn't take his job seriously nor the responsibilities that came with it. That she demanded things he couldn't give her.

He picked up the phone.

"…not a fool and…"

"Stop," he said, his voice quiet. He didn't want to argue anymore.

But she didn't hear him. Or wasn't listening.

Anger sparked. "Stop!" he repeated sharply.

The edge in his tone got her attention; she abruptly fell silent.

It lasted only for a moment.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that," she said, very quietly.

"Why do we keep having this conversation?" he asked, struggling to keep his temper from getting the better of him. He didn't want to fight with her; he just wanted to be left alone. He should never have answered the phone. He should have known she'd pick up on his mood and guess the reason for it. "Why can't you just let it go?"

"Why can't you just admit that you have feelings for her?" Renée shot back.

"Fine," he snapped, his temper flaring. "I do. I have feelings for her. I'm in love with her. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The sudden silence at the other end of the line made it clear that whatever she'd thought he would say, it wasn't this. Although she'd dared him to tell her the truth, he didn't think she'd really expected him to.

"Wow," Renée said eventually. Her voice was oddly quiet; he hadn't expected that. But then, he didn't know what he had expected. Renée was a lot smarter than people gave her credit for. She knew when a battle was lost. And the odds in this particular battle had never been in her favour.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

And he was. For everything. For having this conversation over the phone when she deserved better than that. For stringing her along. For being here in the first place when he'd known from the beginning that this relationship was destined to fail because their worlds were too different. For having just admitted to her that there had never been a place in his heart large enough for her.

But wasn't this exactly why he had started dating her? _Because_ she was different and nothing at all like the women he'd been with before her. Nothing at all like Mac.

Renée didn't reply. Perhaps she was in shock. Perhaps she didn't know what to say. It was one thing to suspect that your boyfriend had feelings for another woman, but it was quite another to know for sure.

Harm felt a twinge of shame. This wasn't how he'd imagined this conversation. To be honest, he hadn't imagined it at all. Of course he'd known they'd have it eventually and sooner rather than later—over the past two days it had become painfully clear to him that he couldn't go on like this. But he certainly hadn't planned on having it today of all days.

"Renée…" he began, then trailed off as he realised that he had no idea what to say. He didn't want to leave things like this between them, but it was too late to start thinking about that.

"Don't," she whispered.

He didn't try to tell her that it wasn't her; she already knew that. So he just sat there and listened to the silence at the other end of the line, not knowing how he was supposed to feel. This had been inevitable and while he was strangely relieved that it was over now, there was a part of him that wished he could take back what he'd said. Although he knew that it was better this way, he'd miss her; they'd been together for a long time and even though he hadn't opened up to her as much as she'd wanted him to, there was that sense of familiarity between them that only came from sharing your life with another person, and he had always found it comforting. He'd miss this feeling, miss it perhaps more than Renée herself.

His lips twitched into a bitter, humourless smile. What kind of bastard did that make him?

"I have to go," Renée said after a while, calm and composed, and he found himself wishing that she'd shout at him. For some reason he thought this would have made him feel better.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "I'll…" He'd meant to say that he'd call—though to discuss what, he had no idea—but she hung up before he could finish the sentence.

He dropped the phone, covering his face with his hand. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that in less than twelve hours life as he knew it had changed.

_And all because I'm a coward._

How he wished that things were different! Yesterday, he would have been secretly pleased to learn that she dreamed about him the way he dreamed about her, that they had found a way to be together. Now he would have given everything to change the way she felt about him if it meant that he'd get to keep her in his life.

_Really_, the voice in his mind asked, doubtful.

No. She loved him. How could he want to change that?

Besides, he knew that it would have made no difference in the end. He still would have lost her, for how could things between them continue the way they were when she had a husband and, one day, a family of her own?

So wasn't it better then that she was leaving? At least that way he wouldn't have to be around to watch her move on with her life, watch her have children with another man, grow old with him. And perhaps, with Mac gone, he would find someone he could learn to love. Not the way he loved Mac—he couldn't imagine ever feeling this way about anyone else—but enough to start a family.

What choice did he have?

**Thoughts? You know I love hearing what you think!**


	17. 16 Resurrection

**A/N: Again sorry for the delay. Unfortunately, I can't promise it won't happen again. I've been ridiculously busy with work lately, not that I'm complaining. I love it!**

**As always, thank you for taking the time to review and sharing your thoughts!**

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**DivaLola: Thank you for your kind words and your offer!**

**Saturnina Black: Glad to hear! Yes, he definitely will. I almost feel sorry for him. But hey, he could have avoided this entire situation. Well, not the kidnapping part, but the angst and heartbreak part. Men.**

**jpstar57: You'll find out in a little while… Just not in this chapter, I'm afraid.**

**alix33: That, it will. But it was about time Harm admitted his feelings out loud. Besides, it wasn't exactly fair on Renée to string her along. Though I understand why he did it.**

**achaon: As far as Bugme is concerned, Mac's… current situation should put everything into perspective.**

**Sunset: Thank you!**

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**A very special thank you for my friend and beta AvaniHeath. I truly wouldn't know what to do without you.**

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**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

**16 Resurrection**

Hannah closed the book and tossed it on the kitchen table, nearly knocking over the bottle of wine she'd bought today but hadn't opened yet. After that last glass of wine she didn't feel like drinking, let alone getting wasted—even though she knew by now that it hadn't been the wine that had knocked her out cold—but she also wanted to get rid of the image of Flo dead on her bed. At least for a while.

The apartment felt different without Flo here, and not just because there were no dirty dishes in the sink or clothes strewn all over the bathroom. Hannah couldn't quite describe it. It just felt… dead. Her lips twitched into a tiny smile at the morbid pun. Flo would have loved it; she'd had the weirdest sense of humour.

Sully perched on the windowsill, watching her intently like only cats could. Hannah felt sorry for him. How did you explain to a pet that its master was dead? This morning she'd found him in front of Flo's room, clawing madly at the door, trying to get in. Poor guy. Hannah, though more of a dog person herself, had decided to keep him if Flo's family didn't want him. Hannah hadn't called them yet; they were planning a funeral and she didn't want to bother them because of a cat right now. Also, she didn't want to speak to Flo's dad again anytime soon, even if he had apologised very nicely for interrogating her like a suspect yesterday morning.

Something warm brushed against her legs. Looking down, she saw Sully sitting on the floor, staring up at her. He'd never come to her voluntarily—unless he wanted her to feed him—but now he leapt into her lap, turning himself once around before curling up. Hannah sighed. She couldn't believe this had happened. You always heard about it on the news, but you never really expected it to happen to you or someone close to you. And certainly not in a place you were supposed to feel safe.

She still hadn't figured out how he'd managed to slip the roofies in her glass. The break-in she could explain—they never locked the front door. Why would they? This was a military base, for heaven's sake. But why hadn't she heard or seen him? Her analytical mind had been examining the available data for hours now, but she hadn't come any closer to solving the problem.

It unnerved her; if he'd broken in once without her noticing, he might do it again and come after her next. A shiver ran down her spine. Nick, her boyfriend, had assured her in his usual blunt manner that she had nothing to worry about because if she was next on the killer's list, then he'd already have kidnapped her. She had no reason to be afraid.

_Easy for him to say_, Hannah thought sourly. Nick was six foot two, built like a wall and had the self-confidence to match. He wasn't afraid of anything. It was what had attracted him to her when they first started dating, and she wished that he was here now. She would have felt safer with him here. But he was working late; he'd called her a couple of hours ago to cancel their plans for tonight.

She rubbed her hands together. It was freezing. Rain was drumming on the roof. Normally, Hannah found the steady rhythm soothing; today it simply emphasised the silence around her, made her feel even more alone. It was close to midnight, but she didn't want to go to sleep just yet.

She eyed the wine bottle with apprehension. "Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered, suddenly feeling ridiculous. She leaned across the table, reaching for the bottle. Sully protested by digging his claws into her thighs so that he wouldn't slide off her lap. She sniffed at the wine, but it smelled normal. What did flunitrazepam smell like? Did it even smell like anything? After Agent Rhys had told her what she'd been drugged with—he'd even sounded somewhat contrite as he'd explained to her that this was most likely the reason she hadn't heard the killer—she'd Googled it. Apparently, it tasted salty when taken on its own, but had no detectable taste when mixed with something else.

Hannah shook her head. She was going crazy. She hadn't let the bottle out of her sight ever since she'd opened it. There was nothing wrong with it. Still, she couldn't bring herself to even wet her lips with it. Eventually, she poured it into the sink, putting the empty bottle with the others.

Sully watched her from the chair.

"What?" she said defensively. "I think I'm entitled to some paranoia."

He just stared at her.

Hannah went into her room, avoiding looking at the yellow crime scene tape. Last night she'd crashed at Nick's place; the thought of sleeping right across the room where Flo had been murdered had creeped her out. She switched on the light and started to pull back the blue duvet, then paused and straightened, still clutching the fabric. No, she couldn't sleep here. Not alone. She'd thought she'd be able to handle it, but she couldn't.

"Damn it," she said to nobody in particular, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. She was a mess. Reaching a decision, she grabbed the sweater that hung over the back of her desk chair and pulled it over her head and headed to the door, fishing Nick's spare key—not that he ever locked his front door either, but she didn't want to take the chance—out of the ceramic bowl on her dresser.

Sully slipped out with her, disappearing swiftly into the darkness. Hannah shook her head as she sloshed through the rain in the opposite direction. Most cats hated water. Sully loved it.

Somewhat to her surprise Nick's front door was locked. She dug the key out of her pocket and let herself in, kicking off her shoes as soon as she'd closed the door behind her. She padded down the hallway knowing her way even in the darkness. She flipped the switch in the bedroom. The bed was accurately made. She went to the closet where she kept a spare pair of PJs and some lacy lingerie—depending on what the situation called for—and started to rummage through Nick's clothes. He was even more meticulous than she was, which unfortunately wasn't the same as tidy. As she shoved aside a stack of sweaters, a narrow wooden box sailed past her, clattering to the floor before she could catch it. It snapped open, its content jingling softly.

Jewellery. Decidedly female jewellery.

Hannah stared at it.

_Okay, this is weird._

"He'd better not be dressing up as a woman when I'm not around," she said out loud as she started picking it up. Bracelets, necklaces, a few rings. Beautiful pieces and some of them quite expensive by the looks of it, not that Hannah was an expert. Perhaps he'd inherited them? She thought she remembered something about his mother leaving her jewellery collection to him since he didn't have any sisters. Yes, that had to be it. In any case, it was a more pleasant thought than her boyfriend leading a secret life in which he put on dresses, jewellery and makeup.

Or having a secret harem she didn't know anything about.

Just as she was about to close the box, a ring caught her attention—a thin golden band with a oval pearl that was framed by an intricate swirly pattern. Hannah stared at it. She'd seen that ring before. Holding it up into the light, she twisted it between her fingers, looking for the engraving she knew was there while hoping it wouldn't be.

But it was there and her stomach sank.

_FEA._

Florence Emily Acker.

_It's possible this isn't her ring_, Hannah told herself. Nick's mother could have had the same initials. But she knew the chances of that were slim. Besides, she'd seen this ring so many times, both on Flo's finger and lying around somewhere in their apartment, that she was a hundred per cent sure that it was hers.

But why would Nick have it?

Logical explanation. There was always a logical explanation.

Maybe Nick had kleptomaniac tendencies and had stolen the ring. Or Flo could have been seeing him behind Hannah's back and given him the ring as a gift. Not exactly a happy notion, but still better than any alternative Hannah could come up with right now.

But Flo would never hurt her like that and, besides, if this was her ring, then she'd have never given it away because it was a family heirloom.

Which left very few other options.

_You don't even know if this is her ring_, the analytical part of her mind insisted.

Well, then she had to find out.

_And if it is…_

Hannah refused to finish that thought.


	18. 17 Undisclosed Desires

**A/N: I am so sorry for keeping you waiting. My life has been crazy these past few months. It's only four more weeks until the summer holidays, but there's still so much to do… *sigh* I don't know for sure when I'll be able to post the next chapter. Four more chapters are nearly done, but I haven't written a single word since the start of the semester… and I probably won't for a few more weeks. Real life tends to get in the way.**

**Thank you all for your lovely reviews! It makes me so happy when, even months after I last updated this story, I have one in my inbox. Thank you SO much!**

**A special thank you to my friend and beta AvaniHeath. I wouldn't know what to do without you. And I'm not just talking about writing!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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**17 Undisclosed desires**

When he opened the trunk, she was still unconscious.

Sweeping the beam of his flashlight over her face, his jaw set in anger as the light fell on the bruise that was beginning to blossom on her cheek—an ugly bluish smudge that blemished her perfection. Of course he hadn't expected it to go down smoothly—he never did—but he hadn't counted on her being so difficult to subdue. The Predator had been thrilled. The Man, however, had been pissed, and anger was still simmering in his chest, making his blood boil.

He knew he'd have to get a handle on it if he wanted her to last as long as he needed her to, but for now he gave it free reign—the anger he felt coursing through his veins was directed at himself more than her, at the sloppiness with which he'd executed his plan.

_You didn't exactly have time to be subtle_, he reminded himself, as he had done many, many times on the drive up from Norfolk. Still, there was a reason he preferred to drug them, and this was it. He didn't like to damage them before he got them to his cabin.

And he always left their faces untouched.

He had no reason to destroy their beauty.

Switching the flashlight to his other hand, he brushed his thumb across the edge of her swollen chin. The Predator protested, impatient; it wasn't interested in her face, only her body. It was already on edge because cleaning up the mess in her quarters had taken longer than expected, and by the time he'd erased all signs of the struggle, she'd regained consciousness. He'd had to wait another twenty minutes for the spiked water he'd forced down her throat to take effect and knock her out.

Watching her fight the drugs, seeing the primal fear flashing in her brown eyes when it finally sunk in that she wouldn't get away had soothed the Predator a little and excited the Man, but neither could wait for what was to come. The Man simply understood that some things couldn't be rushed, that sometimes patience was necessary. Patience could, at times, even prolong the pleasure.

The Predator, who preferred instant gratification, rarely agreed.

It took a conscious effort to withdraw his hand, to not run his palm over her throat, to open her blouse. The memory of how her skin had felt, so warm and soft, made his body tighten in anticipation. He swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists. _In a little while_, he promised himself as he sucked the crisp air into his lungs. It carried the familiar, treasured scents of the forest around him, wet earth and pine the most dominant. It eased his tension and cleared his mind, and he was able to return his attention to the plan.

Turning off the flashlight, he tossed it into the trunk beside her and, when his eyes had adjusted to the dark, slid his arms under her and gently lifted her up. Her head lolled to the side and came to rest on his chest, and a smile curved his lips at how peaceful she looked, as if she was merely asleep.

He wondered if she'd beg him to spare her.

They all did at some point, even the ones who put up a fight, who refused to let him see their fear, trying to hide it under a veneer of bravery. But there was only so much that mind and body could endure before they splintered. In the end, even Flo—strong, pretty, resistant Flo—had cried when she realised that he'd taken her home to die.

Looking at the woman in his arms, he hoped she wouldn't break for a very, very long time.


End file.
